``Pap's tight!'' That did not look
promising, but we had to stay just the
same. Buck helped me to unhitch the
mules, helped me also to catch minnows,
and in half an hour we started down the
river to try fishing before dark came.
Buck trotted along.

``Have you got a wagon, Buck?''

``What fer?''

``To bring the fish back.'' Buck was
not to be caught napping.

``We got that sled thar, but hit won't
be big enough,'' he said gravely. ``An'
our two-hoss wagon's out in the cornfield.
We'll have to string the fish, leave 'em in
the river and go fer 'em in the mornin'.''

``All right, Buck.'' The Blight was
greatly amused at Buck.

Two hundred yards down the road
stood his sisters over the figure of a man
outstretched in the road. Unashamed,
they smiled at us. The man in the road
was ``pap''--tight--and they were trying