“’Twas a sorry mishap,” sympathized Hiram, a wiry, active little man of few words.
“Aye,” agreed Thomas, “but it might ha’ been worse. I were thinkin’ how hard ’twould ha’ been when the children were little, or a season when th’ fishin’ were poor, and I were in debt with nothin’ ahead for th’ winter.”
“H-m-m-m,” grunted Uncle Ben. “I suppose nothin’s so bad it couldn’t be worse, but bad’s bad enough for all that. Good gracious, yes!”
“Well,” said Thomas, “we have t’ take things as they come, good or bad, and th’ best way, t’ my thinkin’, is t’ take un without complaint. But set in now, and have tea.”
When tea was cleared away, and Indian Jake and Hiram and Doctor Joe were smoking their pipes comfortably at the other end of the room, Uncle Ben seated himself by Thomas’s bed and asked:
“How about th’ huntin’, Tom? I says to myself, when Davy tells me you broke your leg, ‘Tom’ll need some one, now, t’ hunt his trail on shares. Good gracious, yes!’ and so I speaks t’ Hiram, and Hiram says he’ll hunt un, and here Hiram is, ready t’ go.”