"Hester, yore dooty 'll kill you yit. It's a wonder you don't git tired a-lookin' it in the face." "I ain't a-goin' to skirk it, jest to live in pleasure an' ease."
"No need o' shirkin', Hester, no need o' shirkin'; but they 's some people that would n't be content without rowin' down stream."
"An' then, mind you, 'Liphalet, I ain't a-exchangin' words with you, fur that's idleness, but there's others, that would n't row up stream, but 'ud wait an' hope fur a wind to push 'em." These impersonalities were as near "spatting" as Mr. and Mrs. Hodges ever got.
Through all the community that clustered about Mr. Simpson's church and drew its thoughts, ideas, and subjects of gossip therefrom, ran like wildfire the news that at last they were to have a chance to judge of young Brent's merits for themselves. It caused a stir among old and young, and in the days preceding the memorable Sunday little else was talked of.
When it reached the ears of old Dan'l Hastings, who limped around now upon two canes, but was as acrimonious as ever,
