“We heerd tell of ye, Davy,” said his grandmother. “We heerd tell all about what’s happened. I don’t reckon folks’ll laugh at ye no more. How far along is the big house by now, Davy?”
“The walls are up, Granny,” said he. “It looks right fine, up on top of the hill. We’re out of nails now—I’ve got to go down the river before long to see if I can get trusted for a keg of nails at Windsor.” The corners of his mouth suggested a grim smile.
“Ye’d better see if ye kain’t git trusted fer a sack of meal,” sneered his wife. “How ye suppose we-all was a-goin’ to live here? Hit’s two year sence ye left.”
“I didn’t suppose, Meliss’,” said he. “If I had supposed anything at all I’d have stayed right here. When a thing has got to be done, you can’t look at what lies between you and it.”
“Ye’re a fine preacher o’ the Gospel,” said she contemptuously.
“I’m not a preacher of the Gospel,” replied David Joslin quietly.
“How come ye hain’t, Davy?” demanded his granddam. “I done tolt everybody ye was called. How come ye hain’t a preacher? If ye was, that explains a heap of things. Preachers, they hain’t held responserble.”
“It’s not yet time, Granny,” said Joslin gently. “Some time, maybe. I don’t know.”
“Not time! When’s it a-goin’ to be time then? When yore pap beginned to preach, he jest up an’ beginned, that’s all, an’ he was helt as powerful a preacher as ary in these mountings. Don’t I mind how over on the Buffalo he preached fer two weeks without a showin’ o’ grace, an’ he kep’ right on, an’ come evenin’ of the fourteenth day things begun fer to break, an’ within the next two days he baptized over two hundred souls, tell he taken a chill an’ liken enough to die from it, excusin’ the quinine I gin him.”
“Yes,” said Joslin, “I know about that. But if I don’t preach there, someone else will.”
“Well, what then?” demanded the fierce old woman of him. “What’s the matter with ye, boy? Hain’t ye as good a man as yore daddy, or air ye made all of skim melk?”
He only shook his head, and tried to smile.
“Ye’re a-workin’ right alongside of them Gannts up thar, they tell me,” went on the old dame. “Hit don’t look to me like ye had sand enough to hurt a flea. Why hain’t ye killed old Absalom long afore this? My Lord, looks to me like ye’d had chancet enough! Did ye come back fer yore pistol?”
