"Yes, an' I'll see you do it yet. . . . Now you set there,
an' pretty soon I'll give you thet to eat which 'll make
your mouth water."

"What's the news, Auntie?" he asked.

"Nary news in this dead place. Why, nobody's been to
Snowdrop in two weeks! . . . Sary Jones died, poor old soul
-- she's better off -- an' one of my cows run away. Milt,
she's wild when she gits loose in the woods. An' you'll have
to track her, 'cause nobody else can. An' John Dakker's
heifer was killed by a lion, an' Lem Harden's fast hoss --
you know his favorite -- was stole by hoss-thieves. Lem is
jest crazy. An' that reminds me, Milt, where's your big
ranger, thet you'd never sell or lend?"

"My horses are up in the woods, Auntie; safe, I reckon, from
horse-thieves."

"Well, that's a blessin'. We've had some stock stole this
summer, Milt, an' no mistake."

Thus, while preparing a meal for Dale, the old woman went on
recounting all that had happened in the little village since
his last visit. Dale enjoyed her gossip and quaint
philosophy, and it was exceedingly good to sit at her table.
In his opinion, nowhere else could there have been such
butter and cream, such ham and eggs. Besides, she always had
apple pie, it seemed, at any time he happened in; and apple