ud's name about that wheat plugging. Tell them
who did it." In the excitement of the moment there did not seem
anything odd in the suggestion. Pearl was shrewd enough to know that
the psychological moment had come.

Mr. Burrell was still standing with his hand on Bud's shoulder, as if
he could never let go of him. Pearl whispered to the minister to ask
the people to sit down for a few minutes, for Mr. Perkins had
something to say to them. Mr. Burrell did as Pearl had asked him.
Then Mr. Perkins addressed a few words to the congregation which were
probably as strange a closing as any sacramental service has ever
had.

"Well, friends," he said, "I believe I have a few words to say. I
should have said them before, I guess. In fact, I should have said
them when the thing happened, but I'm a terrible man to put off
things that I don't like to do. But I'm so glad to get Buddie home
that I don't mind tellin' ye that he didn't have nothin' to do with
that wheat pluggin'--that was my idea entirely--in fact, Bud raised
Cain about us ever pluggin' grain, and said he'd not stand for it any
more. I ain't much used to speakin' in church, as you know. I've
always kept my religion in my wife's name, and I may not be talking
in a suitable way at all. I'm a good deal like old Jimmie Miller was
at a funeral one time. Jimmie had took a glass or two too much, and
just when the minister asked them to walk around and view the
remains, old Jimmie jumped up and proposed the health of the bride
and groom. Well, of course, someone grabbed him and pulled him down,
and says: 'Sit down, man, this is a funeral!' 'Well,' says Jimmie,
speakin' pretty thick, 'I don't care what it is, but it's a very
successful event any way.' That's the way I feel--it's the happiest
day I've known for quite a while." Thomas Perkins suddenly stopped
speaking and blew his nose noisily on a red handkerchief. The
neighbours, looking at him in surprise, realized that there was
strong emotion behind his lightly spoken words.

It seemed to be quite a natural thing for them to sing "Praise God,
from whom all blessings flow," and for the hand-shaking to begin all
over again. They were only a handful of very ordinary people in a
desolate-looking, unpainted schoolhouse that dark Sunday afternoon,
but a new spirit seemed suddenly to have come over them, a new spirit
that made them forget their worries and cares, their sordid
jealousies and little meannesses, the spirit of love