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Dan picked himself up and came to my assistance.
“Pick up my heel, please,” said I, standing like a stork on one foot. Dan stared at me dazedly. “Pick up my heel,” I cried impatiently. He reached for my foot. “Do you think I’m a horse waiting to be shod? Don’t you see the heel of my shoe lying over there in the mud?”
With that he retrieved the loosened heel and we hurried through the steady downpour to the barn. The owner came out and, having listened to our tale of woe, gave us some shingle nails to repair the torn shoe and bade us build a fire beneath a shed to prepare breakfast. Dan fulfilled the augury of the previous day by the purchase of some fresh eggs, and soon we were feasting on bacon and eggs and pints of steaming coffee.
Good? Why nectar and ambrosia were stale beside it.
After the meal, we repaired to the barn loft and, easing our weary bones into the prickly depths of hay, awaited the end of the storm.
FOUR
May 6th, 1908.
FOUR
ssss1
May 6th, 1908.
Dan found work! Only a day and a half, but a few hours were better than nothing, and gave us hope.