Part 21 (1/2)
”I'm rale glad to see ye, nevertheless,” she continued, ”fer it's been a month of Sundays sense I sot eyes on ye last. How've ye been? An' yer old man, is he well?”
”Only fairly,” replied Mrs. McKrigger, laying aside her bonnet and shawl, and taking the proffered chair. ”Abraham went to the mill this mornin' an'
I came this fer with 'im. We were clean out of flour, an', although the roads are bad, there was no help fer it, so he had to go, poorly as he is.
He'll stop fer me on his way back.”
”An' what's wrong with 'im?” asked Mrs. Stickles, going back to her was.h.i.+ng.
”The doctor thinks he's got delapitation of the heart. Abraham was never very strong there, and suffers most after eatin'. I'm gittin' very nervous about 'im.”
”Oh, is that all?” and Mrs. Stickles paused in her work. ”I wouldn't worry about that. Mebbe he eats too much. Men's hearts an' stummicks are purty closely kernected, an' what affects the one affects t'other. It's indisgestion the man's got-that's what 'tis. It's a wonder to me they don't all hev it.”
”Mebbe yer right, Mrs. Stickles. 'Abraham is certainly a big eater. But it wasn't eatin' which gave 'im the delapitation yesterday.”
”What was it, then?”
”It was Si Farrington who gave it to 'im. That's who it was.”
”Ugh!” e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Mrs. Stickles. ”Surely a cur like that wouldn't affect anyone, would it? I'm jist waitin' to run agin Farrington meself, an' then we'll see who'll hev palputation of the heart. It'll not be me, I reckon.”
”It's very true what ye say,” replied Mrs. McKrigger, bringing forth her knitting, ”but when ye owe the man a bill at the store, an' heven't the money to pay, it makes a big difference.”
”So he's been at you, has he? I s'pose he's been tryin' to git yer cow, horse or farm. He tried it here, but Parson John, bless his soul, soon stopped that.”
”No, not like that. He only hinted what he'd do if Abraham didn't sign the pert.i.tion.”
”Oh, I see. He's goin' to run fer councillor, an' wanted yer husband to sign his denomination paper, did he?”
”No, no, not that. It's about the parson.”
”What! Parson John?”
”Yes, it's about 'im, poor man.”
”Land sakes! What's up now?” and Mrs. Stickles paused in her work and stood with arms akimbo.
”Farrington thinks the parson's too old fer the work, an' that we should hev a young man with snap an' vim, like Mr. Sparks, of Leedsville. He believes the young people need to be stirred up; that they're gittin'
tired of the old humdrum way, an' that the parish is goin' to the dogs.
But that wasn't all. He thinks the parson isn't a fit man to be here after that disgraceful racin' scene on the river last Sunday. He sez it's an awful example to the young. So he's gittin' up the pert.i.tion to send to the Bishop.”
Mrs. Stickles had left the wash-tub now and was standing before her visitor. Anger was expressed in her every movement.
”An' do ye tell me!” she demanded, ”that yer husband signed that paper?”
”W-what else was there to do?” and Mrs. McKrigger dropped her knitting and shrank back from the irate form before her. ”How could he help it?”
”Betsy McKrigger, I never thought ye'd come to this. Help it! Why didn't yer husband help Farrington out of the door with the toe of his boot?”
”But think of that unpaid bill, Mrs. Stickles.”
”Unpaid bill, be fiddlesticks! Would ye turn aginst yer best earthly friend fer the sake of a bill?”
”What else could we do?”