The Miller of Old Church | Page 6

while they was runnin' arter the
silly? Thar're some among 'em, I reckon, as have reasoned out to
themselves that a man's pursuit speaks louder in the years, arter all,
than his praise. Now, thar's a fine, promisin' farmer, like the miller gone
runnin' loose, mo's the pity."
"A kind heart at bottom," said old Adam, "but he's got a deal of larnin'
to do befo' he'll rest content to bide along quietly in the same world
with human natur."
"Oh, he's like the Revercombs from the beginnin'," protested Solomon,
"slow an' peaceable an' silent until you rouse 'em, but when they're
once roused, they're roused beyond God or devil."
"Is this young Cain or Abel the head of the family?" inquired the
stranger.
"Bless you, no, Mr. Jonathan, he ain't the head--for thar's his brother
Abner still livin'--but, head or tail, he's the only part that counts, when
it comes to that. Until the boy grew up an' took hold of things, the
Revercombs warn't nothin' mo' than slack fisted, out-at-heel po' white
trash, as the niggers say, though the old man, Abel's grandfather, al'ays
lays claim to bein' connected with the real Revercombs, higher up in
the State--However that may be, befo' the war thar warn't no place for
sech as them, an' 'tis only since times have changed an' the bottom
begun to press up to the top that anybody has heerd of 'em. Abel went
to school somehow by hook or crook an' got a good bit of book larnin',
they say, an' then he came back here an' went to turnin' up every stone
an' stick on the place. He ploughed an' he sowed an' he reaped till he'd
saved up enough to buy that piece of low ground betwixt his house and
the grist-mill. Then Ebenezer Timberlake died of the dropsy an' the first
thing folks knew, Abel had moved over and turned miller. All the grain
that's raised about here now goes to his mill, an' they say he'll be
throwin' out the old and puttin' in new-fangled machinery befo' the year
is up. He's the foremost man in these parts, suh, unless you war to come
to Jordan's Journey to live like yo' uncle."

"To live like my uncle," repeated the young man, with an ironic
intonation that escaped the ears of old Adam. "But what of the miller's
little sweetheart with the short hair and the divine smile? Whose
daughter is she?"
Old Adam's thin lips flattened until a single loosened tooth midway of
his lower gum wagged impishly back and forth. His face, sunburned
and frosted like the hardened rind of some winter fruit, revealed the
prominent bones of the skull under the sunken flesh. One of his gnarled
old hands, trembling and red, clutched the clay bowl of his pipe; the
other, with the callous skin of the palm showing under the bent fingers,
rested half open on the leather patch that covered the knee of his
overalls. A picture of toilworn age, of the inevitable end of all mortal
labour, he had sat for hours in the faint sunshine, smiling with his
sunken, babyish mouth at the brood of white turkeys that crowded
about the well.
"Well, she's Reuben Merryweather's granddaughter, suh," replied
Solomon in the place of the elder. "He was overseer at Jordan's Journey,
you know, durin' the old gentleman's lifetime, after the last Jordan died
and the place was bought by yo' uncle. Ah, 'twas different, suh, when
the Jordans war livin'!"
Some furtive malice in his tone caused the stranger to turn sharply upon
him.
"The girl's mother--who was she?" he asked.
"Janet Merryweather, the prettiest gal that ever set foot on these roads.
Ah, 'twas a sad story, was hers, an' the less said about it, the soonest
forgotten. Thar was some folks, the miller among 'em, that dropped
dead out with the old minister--that was befo' Mr. Mullen's time--for
not wantin' her to be laid in the churchyard. A hard case, doubtless, but
a pious man such as I likes to feel sartain that however much he may
have fooled along with sinful women in this world, only the most
respectable of thar sex will rise around him at the Jedgment."
"And the father?" inquired the stranger, with a sound as if he drew in

his breath sharply.
"Accordin' to the Law an' the Prophets she hadn't any. That may be
goin' agin natur, suh, but 'tis stickin' close to Holy Writ an' the wisdom
of God."
To this the young man's only response was a sudden angry aversion
that showed in his face. Then lifting his horse's head from the trodden
grass by the well, he sprang into the saddle, and started, as the miller
had done, over the three roads into the