Part 8 (1/2)
”Come right on, Miss Hildy,” shouted the Angel. ”I got ever'thing cleaned up. Come on an' look in the _furthest_ corners!”
St. Hilda went on, but ten minutes later she had to pa.s.s that way again and she did look in. Nothing had been done. The stable was in confusion and a pitchfork lay p.r.o.ngs upward midway of the barn door.
”How's this, Ephraim?” she asked, mystified. Ephraim was a fourteen-year-old boy who did the strenuous work of the barn.
”Why, Miss Hildy, I jes' hain't had time to clean up yit.”
”_You_ haven't had time?” she echoed in more mystery. ”That isn't your work--it's Willie's.” It was Ephraim's turn for mystery.
”Why, Miss Hildy, Willie told me more'n a week ago that you said fer me to do _all_ the cleanin' up.”
”Do you mean to say that you've been doing this work for over a week?
What's Willie been doing?”
”Not a lick--jes' settin' aroun' studyin' an' whistlin'.”
St. Hilda went swiftly down the hill, herself in deep study, and she summoned the Angel to the bar of her judgment. The Angel writhed and wormed, but it was no use, and at last with smile, violet eyes, and halo the Angel spoke the truth. Then a great light dawned for St. Hilda, and she played its searching rays on the Angel's past and he spoke more truth, leaving her gasping and aghast.
”Why--why did you say all that about your poor little brother?”
The Angel's answer was prompt. ”Why, I figgered that you _couldn't_ ketch Jeems Henery an' _wouldn't_ ketch me. An',” the Angel added dreamily, ”it come might' nigh bein' that-a-way if I just had----”
”You're a horrid, wicked little boy,” St. Hilda cried, but the Angel would not be perturbed, for he was a practical moralist.
”Jeems Henery,” he called into s.p.a.ce, ”come hyeh!” And out of s.p.a.ce James Henry came, as though around the corner he had been waiting the summons.
”Jeems Henery, who was the gamblin'est, cussin'est, lyin'est boy on Viper?”
”My big brother Bill!” shouted Jeems Henery proudly.
”Who stopped gamblin', cussin', an' lyin'?”
”My big brother Bill!”
”Who stopped all these young uns o' Miss Hildy's from cussin' an'
gamblin'?” And Jeems Henery shouted: ”My big brother Bill!” The Angel, well pleased, turned to St. Hilda.
”Thar now,” he said triumphantly, and seeing that he had reduced St. Hilda to helpless pulp he waved his hand.
”Git back to yo' work, Jeems Henery.” But St. Hilda was not yet all pulp.
”Willie,” she asked warily, ”when did _you_ stop lying?”
”Why, jes' now!” There was in the Angel's face a trace of wonder at St. Hilda's lack of understanding.
”How did James Henry know?” The mild wonder persisted.