Part 3 (1/2)
”They ought to hobble her like a horse,” said Milford.
”They ought to break her bones, and I would if I was strong enough,” the old man declared. ”She kindled a fire with my spiritualist books. Are you a spiritualist?”
”No, I'm merely an ordinary crank.”
”Fool, you mean,” said the old fellow. ”A man that shuts his eyes to the truth is a fool. See this?” He took from his pocket a pale photograph, and handed it to Milford. ”That's a picture of my wife, taken ten years after the change. She came to see me not long ago, and I cut off a piece of her dress. Here it is.” From a pocketbook he took a piece of white silk.
”They dress pretty well over there,” said Milford, examining it.
”Yes. She wove it herself.”
”Looks as if it might have been done by a fine machine.”
”It was; it was woven in the loom of her mind. Over there, whatever the mind wills is done. But you can't make fools understand it.”
”I suppose not. What will become of the Dutch girl when she goes over?”
”They'll make a dray-horse of her. Here comes the old woman. She pretends she don't believe in it. But she does. She can't help herself.”
The old fellow hid his eggs. She looked at him sharply. ”He'd rather hear the cackle of a hen than a church organ,” she said to Milford.
”Yes, it means more,” the old man replied.
”Well, you won't rob my hens much longer. Your days are numbered.”
”So are yours, ma'am.”
”Now, don't you fret. I'll plant flowers on your grave.”
”See that you don't plant hog-weeds.”
”What difference will it make to you? Your soul will be gone. But what will you do over there? You'd be out of place makin' silk dresses. If you do make any send me one. I'll want it when I marry again.”
”Why do you want to dress up to meet a fool?”
”Shut your rattle-trap. It will be a wise man that marries me. If Bill here was a little older, I'd set my cap for him. Wouldn't I, Bill?”
”I don't doubt it. We can all set a trap for a fox, but it takes a shrewd trapper to catch him.”
The old man chuckled. She looked at him and said that he would have been hauled off long ago, but that the devil didn't care to hitch up for one--Yankee-like, wanting a load whenever he drove forth. ”But before you go, Lewson, I want you to promise me one thing,--that you will come back. You've got me half-way into the notion that you can.”
”I will come back the third night, ma'am,” he replied, his voice earnest. ”When my body has been in the grave three days I will come back to my room and meet you there.”
Milford turned away. The old woman followed him. ”Do you believe he can come back?” she asked.
His sharp eyes cut round at her, like the swing of a scythe. ”An old log may learn to float up-stream,” he said. She stepped in front of him.
”You've done somethin' that you don't want known,” she declared. ”As smart a man as you wouldn't come out here and work on a farm for nothin'.”
”I don't expect to work for nothing.”