Part 30 (1/2)

”Wall,” said he, looking at his work, ”it's the truth, an' thar ain't nuthin' skeercer than truth on grave-yard rocks.”

Margaret came out of the house. ”Howdy, Laz.”

”Ain't runnin' no foot races, but so as to be about.”

”Folks all as well as usual?”

”Ain't hearn no loud complaint.”

”Miz Mayfield,” said Margaret, ”Kintchin fotch me a letter from the post-office this mornin' an' as my eyes ain't right good to-day, I wish you'd come in an' read it to me.”

”Yes, gladly.”

”Thank you--'specially as my eyes ain't right good this mornin'. Skuze us, Laz,” she said, turning to go into the house.

”Help yo'se'f,” Laz replied, again wiping his jews-harp; and when the two women had gone into the house, he began to play, and the old man, sitting now upon the wood-pile, looking over his epitaph, nodded time.

Suddenly the musician left off.

”Say, Peters has got his app'intment.”

The old man's arms dropped. ”Air you sh.o.r.e?”

”I'm a tellin' you. He's got it writ out on a piece of paper that looks like white luther.”

”Wall,” said Jasper, getting up. ”I don't know of any man that's a goin'

to w'ar out his shoes a runnin'. But I'm sorry. Was in hopes that he couldn't git it. An' yit, I didn't put the strings back into my shoes.”

”I understand. You don't want to die with 'em on. But I wouldn't give him any of the advantage.”

”No, Laz, fur the man that gives the mad dog any of the advantage is almost sh.o.r.e to git bit. An' I don't want Jim to know any mo' about this comin' trouble than he kin help.”

”I reckon not, Jasper. It's sorter noised about that he's a pinin' for the lady from off yander.”

”Yes, caliker is got him at last. It's all right, though. The Lord has lit up brown jeans with a smile. Now, here's what I want cut on that rock,” he added, handing the paper to Laz, but suddenly withdrawing it, remarked: ”Remember, I ain't lendin' you this.”

He gave the paper to the borrower, who, looking at it, turning it over and over, replied: ”All right. Don't need it--yit.”

”Say, Laz, come over with me to the mill. There's suthin' I want to put away.”

As they were going out through the gap, Lou came running into the yard.

CHAPTER XVII.

NOT TO TELL HER A LIE.

The girl ran to the rocking-chair, sat down and covering her face with her hands, uttered what to her must have been a sad lament: ”Oh, she has made a coward out of me.” A moment later Tom came, walking briskly.