HILLHOUSE had gone over to Porter's early that morning. He found Nathan
seated on the porch in his shirt-sleeves, his heavy shoes unlaced for
comfort and a hand-made cob-pipe in his mouth. “I want to see Miss
Cynthia a moment,” the preacher said, with a touch of embarrassment as
he came in at the gate, his hat in hand.
Old Porter rose with evident reluctance. “All right,” he said. “I'll see
ef I kin find 'er--ef I do it will be the fust time I ever run across
her, or any other woman, when she was needed.”
He returned in a moment “She'll be out in a few minutes,” he said. “She
told me to tell you to set down here on the porch.”
Hillhouse took a vacant seat, holding his hat daintily on his sharp
knees, and Porter resumed his chair, tilting it backward as he talked.
“Ef you are ever unlucky enough to git married, parson,” he said,
“you'll know more about women than you do now, an' at the same time
you'll swear you know less. They say the Maker of us all has unlimited
knowledge, but I'll be blamed ef I believe He could understand
women--even ef he _did_ create 'em. I'm done with the whole lot!” Porter
waved his hand, as if brushing aside something of an objectionable
nature. “They never do a thing that has common-sense in it. I believe
they are plumb crazy when it comes to tacklin' anything reasonable. I'll
give you a sample. Fer the last ten years I have noticed round about
here, that whenever a man died the women folks he left sent straight
to town an' bought a high-priced coffin to lay 'im away in. No matter
whether the skunk had left a dollar to his name or not, that Jew
undertaker over thar at Darley, to satisfy family pride, sent out a
coffin an' trimmin's to the amount of an even hundred dollars. I've
knowed widows an' orphans to stint an' starve an' go half naked fer ten
years to pay off a debt like that. Now, as I'm financially shaped,
I won't leave but powerful little, an' that one thing worried me
considerable. Now an' then I'd sorter spring the subject on my women,
an' I found out that they thought a big splurge like that was the only
decent way to act over a man's remains. Think o' the plumb foolishness,
parson, o' layin' a man away on a silk-plush cushion after he's dead,
when he's slept all his life on a common tick stuffed with corn-shucks
with the stubs on 'em. But that's _women!_ Well, I set to work to try to
beat 'em at the game, as fur as _I_ was concerned. I 'lowed ef I made my
preparations myself ahead o' time, with the clear understandin' that
I wanted it that away, why, that no reasonable person would, or could,
raise objections.”
“Oh, I see!” Hillhouse said, his mind evidently on something else.
“Well, you may see--an' any other reasonable _man_ could--but you don't
see what them women done.
“Well, to go on. I went down to Swinton's new mill, whar he was sawin'
out pine planks, an' set around all mornin', an' whenever I seed a solid
heart-plank run out, I'd nab it an' lay it aside. Then, when I'd got
enough to make me a good, roomy box, I axed 'im what the pile was wuth
an' got the lot at a bargain, beca'se times was dull an' I was on the
spot. Well, I hauled the planks home on my wagon an' unloaded at the
barn. The women, all three, come out like a lot o' hens peckin' around
an' begun to ax questions. They 'lowed I was goin' to make some shelves
fer the smoke-house, to lay hams an' shoulders on, an' they was powerful
tickled. I didn't let 'em know right then. But the next day when Jim
Long come with his hammer an' nails an' saw an' plane, an' stood me up
agin the wall in the woodshed, an' started to measure me up an' down an'
sideways, they begun to scream an' take on at a desperate rate. It was
the fust time I ever heard mournin' at my own funeral, an' it sorter
upset me; but I told Jim to go ahead, an' he did start, but, la me! The
whole lay-out run to 'im an' got around 'im an' threatened, an' went on
at sech a rate that he throwed up the job an' went home. I got mad an'
went off fishin', an' when I come back I found all o' them fine, new
planks split up into kindlin' fer the stove, an' it wasn't a week 'fore
my burial outfit was turned into ashes. I kin see now that when my time
comes my folks will rake an' scrape to git up money to put me in a box
so thin that a dead man could kick a hole in it.”
“They have their way of looking at such matters,” the preacher ventured,
awkwardly. “Death is a serious thing, brother Porter, and it affects
most people deeply.”
“It hain't so serious on a cash basis as it is on a credit,” Nathan
declared. “But thar Cynthia comes now.”
“I'm an early bird, Miss Cynthia.” Hillhouse was actually flushed. “That
is, I don't mean to hint that you are a worm, you know; but the truth is,
I was afraid if I didn't come quick some hawk of a fellow would bear you
away to bush-arbor meeting next Sunday afternoon. Will you let me take
you?”
Cynthia's face clouded over. “I'm very sorry,” she said, “but I have
already promised some one else.”
“Oh, is that so?” Hillhouse could not disguise his disappointment. “Are
you going with--with--”
“Mr. Floyd asked me,” the girl answered, “and I told him I'd go. I'm
very sorry to disappoint you.”
“Why, Cynthia”--Mrs. Porter had approached and stood in the door-way,
staring perplexedly at her daughter--“you told me last night just before
you went to bed that you had no engagement for Sunday. Have you had a
note already this morning?”
Cynthia, in some confusion, avoided her mother's sharp, probing look.
“It doesn't matter,” she said, lamely. “I've promised to go with Mr.
Floyd, and that is sufficient.”
“Oh yes, that is sufficient, of course,” Hillhouse said, still under his
cloud of disappointment, “and I hope you will have a pleasant time. The
truth is, Floyd is hard to beat at anything. He has a way about him that
wins the--perhaps I may say--the sympathy of nearly all ladies.”
A reply of some sort was struggling for an outlet in Cynthia's rapidly
rising and falling bosom, but her mother forestalled her with tight lips
and eyes that were flashing ominously.
“Brother Hillhouse,” she said, “a man of that stamp has more influence
over girls of the present generation than any other kind. Let a man be
moral, religious, and sober, and thoughtful of the reputations of women,
and he is shoved aside for the sort of men who fight duels and break
hearts and ruin happy homes for their own idle gratification.”
“Oh, Mrs. Porter, I didn't mean to raise such a--a point as that,”
Hillhouse stammered. “I'm sure Miss Cynthia appreciates all that is good
in humanity; in fact, I think she leans decidedly that way. I couldn't
expect her to let a little public gossip turn her against a friend whom
she believes in.”
“Thank you, Mr. Hillhouse,” Cynthia said, drawing herself up to her full
height and turning to go in. “I appreciate the way you look at it.”
She went into the house, walking very straight and not looking back.
Porter stood up and knocked the ashes from his pipe in his hard, broad
hand. “Do you see that thar gate, parson?” he laughed. “Well, you take a
fool's advice an' go home, an' come back some other time. Neither one o'
them women know what they are a-talkin' about, an' they'll have you as
crazy as they are in ten minutes ef you try to follow 'em.”
When Hillhouse had gone, Mrs. Porter went back into the sitting-room and
stood over Cynthia as the girl sat sewing at a window.
“You may _think_ you've got my eyes closed,” the old woman said, “but
you haven't. You didn't have any engagement with Nelson Floyd last night
at supper, and you either saw him after we went to bed or you have had a
secret note from him this morning.”
“Have it your own way,” Cynthia said, indifferently, and hot with
vexation she bent her head over her work.
“I was watching your face this morning, too,” Mrs. Porter went on, “when
your pa came in and said that Wade did not meet Floyd at the spring, and
I noticed that you did not seem at all surprised. I'll get at the bottom
of this, now you see if I don't!” And white with suppressed anger, Mrs.
Porter turned away.
As she went out Mrs. Radcliffe, with a tottering step, came into the
room and drew near to Cynthia.
“I am worried about your mother,” she said, standing with her thin hand
resting on the window-frame. “She troubles so much over small things. I
shudder when I think about it, Cynthia; but I'm afraid she'll go like
your aunt did. It seems to be inherited from your grandfather's side of
the family.”
“Are you really afraid of that, granny?” The girl looked up, a serious
expression dawning in her eyes.
“Well, I don't know as I think she'd actually kill herself, as Martha
did, but if this goes on her mind certainly will give way. It's not
natural--it's too great a strain for one human brain to stand. She
didn't sleep a wink last night I know that, for I woke up several times
and heard her moving about and sighing.”
“Poor mamma!” Cynthia said, regretfully, to herself, as her grandmother
moved slowly from the room. “And I spoke disrespectfully to her
just now. Besides, perhaps I have given her cause to worry, from her
stand-point. God forgive me, I really _did_ go out to meet him that way,
and if she thinks it would be so bad, what must he think? Is it possible
for him to class me with--to think of me as--as he does of--Oh!” and
with a hot flush burning her face, Cynthia rose hastily and put her work
away.