He was dawg sick when we found ‘un. Didn’t know the mountains breeds fevers at this time o’year. But we made a sled of pine branches and took ‘un home to Maw.
She fixed ‘un up good, and the next time we went back to the cabin, he were splitting’ logs by day and teachin’ the little ‘uns their letters by night.
Come spring he was gone, and if’n Maw looked kinda sad we minded our own.
Summer was just colourin’ the woods when a burro toiled up the track.
He brung his stuff, and come back to Maw’s fireside.
Jane Jago’s Drabbles – Four Hundred and Ninety-Four
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