"_Mein Gott_! How did it happen, Pen?"

Ben told him.

"Ven and veer voss der funeral?"

Ben told him.

"Frett! Shonny! Villie! Sharley!" shouted the old man at the top
of his voice to the boys sleeping in the old house. "Get up and
pring all der light horses in from der patticks, and gif dem a goot
feet mit plenty corn; and get der double-parrelled puggy ant der
sinkle puggy and der three spring carts retty. Dere vill pe peoples
vanting lifts to-morrow. Ant get der harnesses and sattles retty.
Vake up, olt vomans!" (Mrs Buckolts must have been awake by this
time.) "Call der girls ant see to dere plack tresses. Py Gott, ve
_moost_ do dis thing in style. Does his poor sister know over
dere across the creeks, Pen? Durn out! you lazy, goot-for-noddings,
or I will chain you up on an ants' bed mit a rope like a tog; do you
not hear that Shack Denver voss dett?"

"I vill sent some of der girls over dere first thing in der
morning. Holt on, Pen, ant I vill sent you out some vine."

Ben rode with the news to Lee's farm where Maurice Lee--at feud with
Buckolts and a silent man--was, for he had known Denver all his life,
and had gone, in his young days, on a long droving trip with him and
Ben Duggan.