When Peter and Alek had said good-bye, the old man turned back in the
rocky field and shaped a slow course towards that high dim light which
marked the little window of his shanty. It would be incorrect to say
that Alek could think of nothing but watermelons. But it was true that
Si Bryant's watermelon-patch occupied a certain conspicuous position
in his thoughts.
He sighed; he almost wished that he was again a conscienceless
pickaninny, instead of being one of the most ornate, solemn, and
look-at-me-sinner deacons that ever graced the handle of a
collection-basket. At this time it made him quite sad to reflect upon
his granite integrity. A weaker man might perhaps bow his moral head
to the temptation, but for him such a fall was impossible. He was a
prince of the church, and if he had been nine princes of the church he
could not have been more proud. In fact, religion was to the old man a
sort of personal dignity. And he was on Sundays so obtrusively good
that you could see his sanctity through a door. He forced it on you
until you would have felt its influence even in a forecastle.
It was clear in his mind that he must put watermelon thoughts from
him, and after a moment he told himself, with much ostentation, that
he had done so. But it was cooler under the sky than in the shanty,
and as he was not sleepy, he decided to take a stroll down to Si
Bryant's place and look at the melons from a pinnacle of spotless
innocence. Reaching the road, he paused to listen. It would not do to
let Peter hear him, because that graceless rapscallion would probably
misunderstand him. But, assuring himself that Peter was well on his
way, he set out, walking briskly until he was within four hundred
yards of Bryant's place. Here he went to the side of the road, and
walked thereafter on the damp, yielding turf. He made no sound.
He did not go on to that point in the main road which was directly
opposite the water-melon-patch. He did not wish to have his ascetic
contemplation disturbed by some chance wayfarer. He turned off along a
short lane which led to Si Bryant's barn. Here he reached a place
where he could see, over the fence, the faint shapes of the melons.
Alek was affected. The house was some distance away, there was no dog,
and doubtless the Bryants would soon extinguish their lights and go to
bed. Then some poor lost lamb of sin might come and scale the fence,
reach a melon in a moment, sever the stem with his ready knife, and in
a trice be back in the road with his prize. And this poor lost lamb of
sin might even be a bishop, but no one would ever know it. Alek
singled out with his eye a very large melon, and thought that the lamb
would prove his judgment if he took that one.
He found a soft place in the grass, and arranged himself comfortably.
He watched the lights in the windows.