[Illustration: Wet but Hopeful]
We blundered away through the rain and darkness, and after
stumbling in a dozen holes, running into a fence, and getting
tangled up in an abandoned picket-rope, at last came up to the
house. It was a little one-room board house such as the settlers
call a "shack." The door was open, and inside we could see a man
and woman and half a dozen children and a full dozen dogs. We
walked up, and when the man saw us he called "Come in!" tossed
two children on the bed in the corner, picked up their chairs,
which were home-made, and brought them to us.
"Wet, ain't it?" he exclaimed. "Rainy as the day Noah yanked
the gang-plank into the Ark. I was a-telling Martha there was a
right smart chance of a shower this afternoon. What might
you-uns' names be, and where might you be from, and where might
you be going?"
We told him all about ourselves, and he went on:
"Rainy night. Too late to help the co'n, though. Co'n's poor
this year; reckon we'll have to live on taters and hope. Tater
crop ain't no great shakes, though.
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