Prairie Folks | Page 6

"I'm a-paintin' this barn--whaddy ye s'pose? If ye had eyes y' wouldn't
ask."
"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 assaulted. 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."
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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."
"Well, we're goin' to hire Elder Pill from Douglass to come over and
preach every Sunday afternoon at the school-house, an' we want help t'
pay him--the laborer is worthy of his hire."
"Sometimes he is an' then agin he ain't. Y' needn't look t' me f'r a dollar.
I ain't got no intrust in y'r church."
"Oh, yes, you have--besides, y'r wife "----
"She ain't got no more time 'n I have t' go t' church. We're obleeged to
do 'bout all we c'n stand t' pay our debts, let alone tryun' to support a
preacher." And the old man shut the pinchers up on a barb with a
vicious grip.
Easy-going Mr. Jennings laughed in his silent way. "I guess you'll help
when the time comes," he said, and, clucking to his team, drove off.
"I guess I won't," muttered the grizzled old giant as he went on with his
work. Bacon was what is called land-poor in the West, that is, he had
more land than money; still he was able to give if he felt disposed. It
remains to say that he was not disposed, being a sceptic and a scoffer. It
angered him to have Jennings predict so confidently that he would help.
The sun was striking redly through a rift in the clouds, about three
o'clock in the afternoon, when he saw a man coming up the lane,
walking on the grass at the side of the road, and whistling merrily. The

old man looked at him from under