Peter glowered down upon the maimed little creature. Had it been a bird with a broken wing he would have kicked it out of his way with one sweep of his huge booted foot. Because it was a child he had been forced to repair its injury to the best of his crude ability. He had no confidence in his surgery. If those splints got awry the bone would come out of the socket again and he would have the whole thing to do over. "Drat th' brat!" he exclaimed aloud, mentally cursing himself for having accepted the baby. "I mought ha' knowed how 'twould be, him not payin' more'n 'nough fer one. 'Tain't likely him an' her'll ever git back in these hyar parts, nuther." He crossed to the door and spat viciously at a tree in the yard. Mollie, polishing away upon a heavy plate with a towel that resembled a scrub cloth, watched both Peter and the baby from out the corners of her eyes. Not a word of the man's soliloquy was lost to her keen ears. Later she would repeat them to Splutters and he would think out their probable meaning. Meanwhile she continued to listen. "Them's Dave Green's young-uns," Peter suddenly announced to Maria, who had not ventured to make another inquiry after her first rebuff. "Dave an' Layunie's aimin' ter go ter Indyanner." Maria dropped her jaw and stared, open-mouthed, awaiting further enlightenment. None coming she replenished her snuff dip and slumped into a chair, leaving the final touches of the cleaning-up process to Mollie. Peter had enjoyed his salt pork and potatoes and felt more loquacious than usual. He cut a fresh mouthful of tobacco and settled himself in a chair by the door. "Them's th' travellinest folks I ever seed," he went on in a low grumbling tone as if personally aggrieved by the peregrinations of the persons he had just mentioned. "They hain't got no home an' they hain't got no money, nor they won't hev es long es they're traipsen' frum hell ter Jerusalem a-lookin' fer work whilst other folks takes keer o' the'r young-uns. Ef they think they're a-goin' ter git me ter do hit fer nawthin' they're a-goin' ter git mighty fooled, thet's all." He turned his head slightly and cast another scowling glance in the direction of the sleeping baby. "Didn't Dave pay yo' no money?" queried Maria, meekly. She seemed a little uncertain as to whether he expected her to say something or not. Apparently he did, for he replied to her question with some degree of civility. "Yes, fer th' gal, but ef I'd ha' knowed he war a-goin' ter work off a leetle set-along child on me I'd never hev driv inter town ter fotch 'em." "An' our cow-brute's jest a-goin' dry," drawled Maria reflectively. The thought suggested by the words did not soothe Peter's ill-humor. "Wisht I'd left him set p'int-blank whar I seed him fust, thar et th' railroad station," he said. "I come nigh a-doin' hit. But thar war folks a-comin' an' th' gal would hev set up a hullabaloo so I jes' brung him along." "Wa'n't Dave thar!"