articular delight in
libelling the ruling elder. He pulled up as he reached Duncan's gate.
He never passed without a few words with the old man. Not because he
ever heard or told any gossip at Duncan Polite's, but Coonie could
never forget a certain dark night when the mail bag was lost and the
drunken mail-carrier in danger of finding himself behind prison bars, a
night when Duncan Polite had toiled over the hills through mud and
rain, and had rescued him. Not a person in the whole countryside,
except the two, knew of the affair, but Coonie remembered, and in his
queer way tried to repay the man who had saved him.

"Mornin'!" he called, somewhat crustily, as was his wont in opening a
conversation. "How's things this mornin'?"

Duncan had hurried into the house and now emerged with a dipperful of
creamy buttermilk. Coonie drank it off in one long pull.

"Ginger, that's prime!" he cried, drawing a long breath. "Goes right
to the dry spot. How's your potatoes?"

"Oh, they will be very good, very good indeed," said Duncan. He
hesitated a moment and then continued. "You would be hearing about the
master and the organ?" he questioned in some embarrassment.

Coonie shot out a look of surprise from his small bright eyes; that
Duncan Polite should open any such subject was an amazing thing.

"Yep," he answered sharply. "Why?"

"I will be having no right to interfere, Coonie." Duncan Polite never
by the slightest gesture hinted that he had any claim on the
mail-carrier's gratitude. "I will be having no right to interfere, but
this will be a thing that will do harm to the church and the Lord's
work, and if it is talked about,----" Duncan's reticence was
overcoming him again after this unusual outburst.

Coonie nodded in perfect comprehension. He planted his foot upon the
dashboard once more. "You don't want folks to be gabbin' about yours
truly up on the hill yonder?" He jerked his thumb over his shoulder in
the direction where Andrew Johnstone's house appeared far up the slope.
"Well, I guess I'll have to choke off a few. Gedap thar, whatter ye
doin'!" He gave old Bella a lash with the whip which she noticed
merely by a switch of her tail. His shoulders sank to their accustomed
limpness and he took no notice of Duncan's thanks as he drove off. He
was really disappointed, for he had prepared such a version of the
story, purporting to have come from the Oa, as would set Splinterin'
Andra in a rage fore