Part 3 (1/2)
”Well, you come right straight to bed. What d'you mean by actin' so?”
”You go back into the house an' let me be. I know what I'm a-doin'.
You've pestered me about this sign jest about enough.” He dabbed his brush to and fro as he spoke. His gaunt figure towered above her in shadow. His slapping brush had a vicious sound.
Neither spoke for some time. At length she said more gently, ”Ain't you comin' in?”
”No--not till I get a-ready. You go 'long an' tend to y'r own business.
Don't stan' there an' ketch cold.”
She moved off slowly toward the house. His voice subdued her. Working alone out there had rendered him savage; he was not to be pushed any farther. She knew by the tone of his voice that he must not be a.s.saulted. She slipped on her shoes and a shawl, and came back where he was working, and took a seat on a saw-horse.
”I'm a-goin' to set right here till you come in, Ethan Ripley,” she said, in a firm voice, but gentler than usual.
”Waal, you'll set a good while,” was his ungracious reply. But each felt a furtive tenderness for the other. He worked on in silence. The boards creaked heavily as he walked to and fro, and the slapping sound of the paint-brush sounded loud in the sweet harmony of the night. The majestic moon swung slowly round the corner of the barn, and fell upon the old man's grizzled head and bent shoulders. The horses inside could be heard stamping the mosquitoes away, and chewing their hay in pleasant chorus.
The little figure seated on the saw-horse drew the shawl closer about her thin shoulders. Her eyes were in shadow, and her hands were wrapped in her shawl. At last she spoke in a curious tone.
”Well, I don't know as you _was_ so very much to blame. I _didn't_ want that Bible myself--I held out I did, but I didn't.”
Ethan worked on until the full meaning of this unprecedented surrender penetrated his head, and then he threw down his brush.
”Waal, I guess I'll let 'er go at that. I've covered up the most of it, anyhow. Guess we'd better go in.”
PART II.
THE TEST OF ELDER PILL: THE COUNTRY PREACHER
The lonely center of their social life, The low, square school-house, stands Upon the wind-swept plain, Hacked by thoughtless boyish hands, And gray, and worn, and warped with strife Of sleet and autumn rain.
ELDER PILL, PREACHER.
I.
Old man Bacon was pinching forked barbs on a wire fence one rainy day in July, when his neighbor Jennings came along the road on his way to town.
Jennings never went to town except when it rained too hard to work outdoors, his neighbors said; and of old man Bacon it was said he _never_ rested _nights_ nor Sundays.
Jennings pulled up. ”Good morning, neighbor Bacon.”
”Mornin',” rumbled the old man without looking up.
”Taking it easy, as usual, I see. Think it's going to clear up?”
”May, an' may not. Don't make much differunce t' me,” growled Bacon, discouragingly.
”Heard about the plan for a church?”
”Naw.”