Hazel helped Jenny bring the breakfast into the chuckhouse, and when we were nearly through eating, she said to her father, “You didn’t ride fence this week, did you, Paw?” “Nope,” he said. “Didn’t have no time. Prob’ly won’t get none this next week neither. Got to round up the whole shebang and cut out the tradin’ stock for next trip.” He’d barely finished when Hazel said, “Ralph and me could ride fence for you this mornin’. Maw said I didn’t have to go to Sunday School.” Mr. Bendt looked up, scowled, and asked, “You and who?” I didn’t think Hazel could ever get flustered, but her face went as red as a sunrise, and she sort of stammered, “Me and . . . me and Little Britches.” The dairyhands began laughing, and Mr. Bendt chuckled, “Put a new handle on him, did you? Well, I don’t see no . . .” “Oh, no you don’t!”
