bath is a good time
to begin. Git the Book, Luke!"

"I'll not do it, Marthy; you may shout an' carry on as much as you
like, with yore sudden religious spurts, but I believe in regularity,
one way ur the other."

"Git that Book, Luke Bradley; git it, I say," and then Westerfelt's
laughter burst from him, and he laughed so heartily that an inkling of
the truth seemed forced on Bradley, who had witnessed his wife's
practical joking before.

"I believe, on my soul, it's a sell," he said, in a tone of vast
relief. "Lord, I 'lowed you'd gone plumb crazy."

And then he was sure it was a joke, for Mrs. Bradley had her head
between her fat knees, and was laughing as he had never heard her laugh
before.

"I paid you back, you ol' goose," she said, when she could master her
merriment. "You had no business thinkin' I'd lost my senses, jest
because I cried when 'at ol' woman got so happy. I was glad on John's
account, but you don't know a bit more now than you did. You couldn't
see a wart on yore nose ef you wus cross-eyed."

Chapter XXI

Mrs. Dawson reached home the next day about four o'clock in the
afternoon. Mrs. Slogan was seated at her great cumbersome hand-made
loom in the corner of the kitchen, weaving reddish brown jeans for
Peter's clothing. Mrs. Lithicum and her husband were in paying a
visit. The latter and Slogan were talking over a joint hog-killing
they were going to have to save labor and expense. Peter had put a
higher mental valuation on the labor saved than Lithicum. He had
discovered, on a former occasion, that the arrangement had saved him
some money, and that Ab had done all the work, such as directing the
black hands and keeping the water just the proper temperature to remove
the bristles without "setting" them.

"You see," Peter had remarked to his wife, "Ab works more'n I do; mebby
it's beca'se he's a chawin' man--a smokin' man has to set down to smoke
to do any good, while a chawin' man kin use both hands at any job, an'
jest squirt when an' whar he wants to."

Peter went to a window, while Ab was watching the movement of the loom,
and looked across the fields. Suddenly the others heard him utter an
ejaculation of profound astonishment. The loom ceased its monotonous
thumping, and all eyes turned on him.

"What's the matter?" asked Mrs. Lithicum, her round, red face full of
curiosity.

"I'll bet narry one o' you could make a good guess."

They knew him too well to expect