The Send-And-Fotch Book    Continued….

Tom and Lucy raced down to the cabin to tell their grandparent the news, and Nancy followed as soon as Mary had left.

“To think that the governor of this great Kaintucky-land will be thar!” exclaimed the old man when he heard the news. “I’m too trimblish to go the twenty mile to Windsor-town, e’en gin we had a mule to ride. But you young-uns can go. There’s no need for you to stay home with me.”

Tom and Lucy set up whoops of glee, but Nancy’s face was sober. “I don’t feel to go without you, Gran’pappy,” she said. “I’d ruther bide at home.”

“Shame on you, Nancy Davis,” scolded Gran’pappy. “Would you keep the younguns from paying honor to our grandsir’s that made this Kaintucky-land free from the English rule? I’m nigh the end of the trail. But you young-uns are jest putting foot to life. You need to see great folk like a governor so’s you’ll everly grow big in your deeds and thoughts.”

“What’ll we wear?” cried Lucy.

Nancy frowned. “Fer massy sake, I don’t see how we can go to Windsor-town! Tom’s trousers are nigh worn through the seat. And Lucy’s calico has more holes than our picket fence. This dress of mine is so short I’m ashamed to have even the chickens see me in hit.”

Gran’pappy blinked in distress. “I hain’t never put countenance to vanity,” he said. “But I’d ruther you stayed home than to be unseemly clad in the presence of the governor.”

“Aw shucks! We can’t go then. We’ll never get money fer clothes,” grumbled Tom.

“ ‘Pears like we never do have ary frolicking,” choked Lucy.

“Waal, mayhaps we can contrive clothes some way,” said Nancy, but in her heart she was doubtful.

One noon several days later as Nancy was putting cornpone to bake on the hot hearthstones, Tom burst in the door crying, “Nat Hill and Sam Perkins are quarreling at each other over George Washington. They both claims him.”

Nancy flew outside, Gran’pappy hobbling after her. The two men down at the picket fence took no notice of the children as they eyed the hog which was rooting around the porch.

“That thar’s my hog,” shrilled Nat Hill. “Hit run wild last summer with my other shotes but hit never come home in the fall. Hit’s my own hog I tell you, Sam Perkins.”

“That’s jest how come me to lose my hog,” declared Perkins. “See that long scar on that creetur’s left shoulder? Waal, my brute had a scar jest like that. He laid down on my scythe and cut hisself.”

“Shucks, ary hog is likely to get cut up in the brush. That ain’t nary proof. That’s my hog and gin you doubt hit look at hits left hind leg. See? Hit’s shorter than tothers.”

“Hit is that,” reluctantly agreed Perkins.

“Yes, and hogs can’t shorten their legs theirselves. Their legs are born right or not right. Now my hog was born with three right legs and one short-like. That’s my hog fer sartain ’n’ I’ll jest take him long home.”

“Neither of you is toting that hog away,” cried Nancy.

The men turned to her in surprise. “How come you by that hog, gal?” drawled Perkins.

“He come here nigh starved last winter,” answered Nancy. “We fed him like a leastun fer months. Being’s how you hain’t sartain you ever even seen him afore, I’ll keep him.” Her eyes flashed and her voice was determined.

“Dad-burned, but I craves that shote,” grumbled Perkins.

Nancy’s eyes narrowed. “Fer-why don’t you buy hit offen me?”
The men shuffled their feet in the dust.

“Waal, I don’t—” began Hill.

But Perkins smiled in a superior manner. “I’ll give a dollar.”

Hill’s mouth dropped in surprise but Nancy turned and walked away. “A dollar!” she said scornfully over her shoulder.

“Hey, gal, I’ll part with two dollar,” called Hill.

“Four,” shouted Perkins.

“Four-fifty.” The men glared at each other.

“Five dollar,” boomed Perkins.

Nancy hastened back to the fence. “He’s yourn. Gin you got the money you can tote him home now.”
In awed silence the others watched Perkins open a worn leather pouch and extract five crumpled dollar bills. Who but a moonshiner could possess that much money at one time! Nancy stretched out her hand. Her fingers trembled slightly as they gripped the bills. “Run fetch a rope fer Washington,” she told Tom in a voice husky with suppressed excitement.

“Waal, five dollar’s a right smart bit of money,” said Hill as he started off to follow Perkins and the hog down the trail. “That money’d buy enough store vittles to last our folks all winter. I’m right proud I didn’t squander ary cash. Besides the shote hain’t as fine looking as I jedged it was at first.”

As soon as the men were out of sight, the Davises hugged one another excitedly. “Now we can buy some clothes,” squealed Lucy.

“We’ll go to Windsor-town.”

“You can see the governor,” beamed Gran’pappy.

All afternoon the family pored over the catalogue, Gran’pappy hovering around the children giving advice and trying unsuccessfully to distinguish the objects on the pages. At last the list was completed and Nancy read aloud: “Shirt fer Gran’pappy, seventy cents; overalls fer Gran’pappy, seventy-nine cents; shirt fer Tom, fifty cents; over-alls fer Tom, seventy-nine cents; dress fer Lucy, seventy-nine cents; dress fer me, one dollar and thirty-five cents.”

She paused. “Hit ain’t seemly fer me to get a costlier frock than Lucy. I—”

“Shucks, gal, you need that red dress fer your sperrit’s good,” said her grandfather.

“Now you tote that order right down to the store and have Lucas Wiley back the letter fer you ’n’ help you fill out the order paper proper.”

As Nancy stood up, the catalogue slid off her lap to the floor. She stooped to pick it up. It was open at a page of queer-looking articles. Beneath the largest one pictured there she read: “For those who can’t see to read, this magnifying glass is a blessing. Guaranteed to make letters three times their normal size. Even the weakest eyes can see when this is used. It sells for only $1.20.”

Nancy stared at it. Was there really something that could help Gran’pappy read?

“Hain’t you never coming?” called Tom.

“Walk on,” answered Nancy. “I’ll foller.”

With her stubby pencil she crossed out on the paper, “Red and white dress.” And in its place she wrote, “Reading glass, $1.20.”

“ ‘Bye, Gran’pappy,” she said huskily.

Her feet, usually so swift and sure, acted strangely as she hurried down the creek trail. They slipped on wet stones in the branch bed and stumbled. A blackberry bush stretched a teasing bramble across the path. But Nancy neither heard the rip of her dress as she passed it nor felt the ugly scratch it left on her cheek. The red dress was gone. She’d never see its gladsome color, never touch its ruffles that were crisp and white.

There was great excitement in the Davis cabin three weeks later when a neighbor stopped by to leave the mailorder package. Nancy opened the box herself.

“I see some blue. Hit’s my dress,” shrieked Lucy.

“You’re the awkwardest gal. Get out of my way,” ordered Tom. “Thar’s my overalls.”

Nancy handed a package to old John Davis. “Here’s a surprise fer you, Gran’pappy,” she said.

With trembling fingers he unwrapped it. “Why, what be this? Hit’s glass.

Go to Part 3  here.