"Our acquaintance hasn't ripened into friendship."

He laughed and replied: "Well, the bloom may be as putty as the fruit."

"Very good. I didn't expect it--of you."

"Didn't expect me at all, did you?"

"If I had I should not have remained here."

He cleared his throat. "I know all about bees, but I didn't know befo'

that a b.u.t.terfly could sting. But I'd ruther be stung than to have no attention paid to me at all." She arose to go away, but he intercepted her. "Beggin' yo' pardon, ma'm, for what I've said an' what I am about to say, will you let me talk business to you for about a minit?"

"I know nothing about business," she replied.

"But you know somethin' about love, don't you? Putty much the same thing."

"How dare you talk to--"

"Now, don't be fretted. I've got my own way of gittin' at a p'int. I'm a thorn bush by the road-side. The sheep comes along an' I pick off some of their wool. An' towards me there comes an old sheep, with his eyes shet, a shakin' of his head. An' he'll lose all his wool. But you could turn him aside."

"I don't know what you mean, sir."

"Starbuck is the old sheep. You'd better help turn him aside. A word from you'll do it. I told him I wanted to borry a thousand dollars.

He'll understand. You tell him to lend it to me."

"I will do nothing of the sort, you--"

"If you don't, you'll be sorry. Jest now I spoke to you about love. It wan't an accident. No. An' if he don't let me have the money, Jim the preacher may be ashamed to preach ag'in. An' he won't talk no mo'

honeysuckle to you, nuther. He will disappear, an' yo' heart may grieve, but yo' jedgment will be glad."

"You infamous scoundrel."

He bowed to her. "The scoundrel sometimes tells the truth, an' when he do it's the worst truth in the world; an' if I'm a scoundrel that's the sort of truth I'm a tellin'."

"Go away from here, you brute."

"All right, all right. I have give you yo' chance, an' now I must have it out with the old sheep. When I see you ag'in yo' eyes may not be so bright. A hot pillow, turned over an' over in the night, when the rooster crows an' thar ain't no sleep, ain't good fur the eyes. I'm goin' now, an' you better think it over. Good-day, ma'm. I have give you yo' chance an' my conscience is clear."

He walked off up the road and she was about to go into the house when Old Jasper came along, with an axe on his shoulder. Seeing that she was disturbed, he inquired if anything were wrong.

"Why, that man Peters was here a moment ago, and--"

"Oh, don't pay no attention to him. He's a joker," said the old man, and going to a bench near the fence, poured water into a tin can, went to the grind-stone, and upon it began slowly to pour a stream.

Mrs. Mayfield stood near, watching him, but her mind reverted to Peters.

"But he says--"

"Never mind what he says," the old fellow broke in, grinding his axe.

"We all ought to be kind to him." He examined the edge of the axe. "For I don't think he's goin' to live very long."

"Why, he looks healthy enough."

"Yes, but he's mighty deceivin'. Most of his men folks died when they was about his age. Suthin' the matter with the fam'ly that causes 'em to drop off along about then."

"Singular, isn't it?"

"Mighty curious."

"Couldn't the doctors do anything for them. Not that I care, you understand, but it's interesting as a--"

"No, somehow the doctors was always called in too late. Ma'm, Jim tells me he's goin' home."

"Did he tell you just now when you must have met him in the road?"

"No. Jest now when I met him he didn't say nothin', but he looked at me and his eye was a hummin' of a tune."

"And when he comes back," she said, half musingly, "he may tell you what tune he was humming."

"Hah!"

"Wait till he comes back."

The old man, shrewder than she was aware, left off his work and at her looked a droll inquiry. She met his gaze. "Ma'm, you don't mean that with all yo' finery you--"

With a gesture she cut him short, "Don't talk that way, Mr. Starbuck. He comes to me a religion typified, and I would rather walk over a stony road with him than to ride in a chariot with any other human being."

The old man laughed and shook his head. "Oh, I know'd it as soon as I seed his eye a hummin' of a tune, an' I said to myse'f, 'at last the gate has been opened for him.'"

"But please don't say a word about it to anybody, Mr. Starbuck. Let the result come as a surprise."

"I won't, but when does the--"

"Oh, I mustn't tell you that. I want to surprise you, too."

"All right. I reckon I'm the easiest man to surprise you ever come across."

She came closer to him. "Let me turn for you--Uncle Jasper."

He slapped his leg and laughed. "Uncle Jasper! Now that do sound like music, don't it? No, you better not turn this here grind-stone. You mout git splashed."

She took the crank from him and began laboriously to turn it. "Down in Maine where I came from I used to turn for the men when they ground their scythes--just for fun."

"Yes, fun for them that seed you do it, I reckon. Maine--Maine. That whar they uster burn witches?"

"Oh, no, they never burned any witches in Maine."

"Why, couldn't they ketch 'em?"