第78章 THE REVENGE(20)

I'm sure she has had a hard enough time without being abused for something she couldn't help.But it really is a passion with him， thar's no use denying it.He spends his whole time adding up the cost of what we eat."Then， as the supper-bell rang in the hall， she finished hurriedly， and assuming a cheerful manner， took her place behind the silver service.

Fletcher entered with a heavy step， his eyes lowering beneath his bushy eyebrows.The weight of his years appeared to have fallen upon him in a night， and he was no longer the hale， ruddy man of middle age， with his breezy speeches and his occasional touches of coarse humour.The untidiness of his clothes was still marked-his coat， his cravat， his fing閞 nails， all showed the old lack of neatness.

"Won't you say grace， Brother Bill？" asked Miss Saidie， as he paused abstractedly beside his chair.

Bending his head， he mumbled a few hurried words， and then cast a suspicious glance over the long table.

"I told you to use the butter with onions in it，" he said， helping himself and tasting a little on the end of his knife.

"This brings forty cents a pound in market， and I'll not have the waste.""Oh， Brother Bill， the other is so bad，" gasped Miss Saidie nervously.

"It's good enough for you and me， I reckon.We wan't brought up on any better， and what's good enough for us is good enough for my grandson." Then he turned squarely upon Will."So you're back， eh？ Whar did you go？" he demanded Will tried to meet his eyes， failed， and stared gloomily at the white-and-red border of the tablecloth.

"I went out for a breath of air，" he answered in a muffled voice.

"It's been stifling all day."

"You've got to get used to it， I reckon，" returned the old man with a brutal laugh."I'll have no idlers and no fancy men about me."An ugly smile distorted his coarse features， and， laying down his knife and fork， he sat watching his grandson with his small， bloodshot eyes.

CHAPTER VII.The Toss of a Coin A fortnight passed before Will came to Christopher's again， and then he stole over one evening in the shadow of the twilight.

Things were no better， he said； they were even worse than usual；the work in the tobacco field was simply what he couldn't stand， and his grandfather was growing more intolerable every day.

Besides this， the very dullness of the life was fast driving him to distraction.He had smuggled a bottle of whisky from the town， and last night， after a hot quarrel with the old man， he had succeeded in drugging himself to sleep."My nerves have gone all to pieces，" he finished irritably， "and it's nothing on earth but this everlasting bickering that has done it.It's more than flesh and blood can be expected to put up with."His hand shook a little when he lighted a cigarette， and his face， which was burned red from wind and sun， contracted nervously as he talked.It was the wildness in his speech， however， the suppressed excitement which ran in an undercurrent beneath his words， that caused the other to turn sharply and regard him for a moment with gathered brows.

"Well， take my advice and don't try that dodge too often，"remarked Christopher in a careless tone.

"What in the deuce does it matter？" returned Will desperately.

"It was the only quiet night I've had for three weeks： I slept like a log straight through until the breakfast-bell.Then I was late， of course， and he threatened to take an hour's time from my day's wages.By the way， he pays me now， you know， just as he does the other labourers."For a time he kept up his rambling complaint， but， breaking off abruptly at last， made some trivial excuse， and started homeward across the fields.Christopher， looking after him， was hardly surprised when he saw him branch off into the shaded lane that led to Sol Peterkin's.

There followed a month when the two met only at long intervals， and then with a curious constraint of manner.Sometimes Christopher， stopping on his way to the pasture， would exchange a few words over the rail fence with Will， who lounged on the edge of his grandfather's tobacco crop； but the old intimacy had ceased suddenly to exist， and it was evident that a newer interest had distracted the boy's ardent fancy.

It was not until August that the meaning of the change was made clear to Christopher， when， coming one day to a short turn in a little woodland road upon his land， he saw Will and Molly Peterkin sitting side by side on a fallen log.The girl had been crying， and at the sight of Christopher she gave a frightened sob and pulled her blue gingham sunbonnet down over her forehead； but Will， inspired at the instant by some ideal of chivalry， drew her hand through his arm and came out boldly into the road.

"You know Molly，" he said in a brave voice that was not without pathos， "but you don't know that she has promised to be my wife."Whatever the purpose of the girl's tears， she had need of them no longer， for with an embarrassed little laugh she flushed and dimpled into her pretty smile.

"Your wife？" repeated Christopher blankly."Why， you're no better than two children and deserve to be whipped.If I were in your place， I'd start to catching butterflies， and quit fooling."He passed on laughing merrily； but before the day was over he began to wonder seriously if Will could be really sincere in his intention to marry Molly Peterkin--poor， pretty Molly， whose fame was blown to the four corners of the county.

By night the question had come to perplex him in earnest， and it was almost with relief that he heard a familiar rattle on his window-pane as he undressed， and， looking out， saw Will standing in the long grass by the porch.

"Well， it's time you turned up，" he said， when he had slipped cautiously down the staircase and joined him in the yard.

"Get your lantern，" returned Will， "and come on to the barn.

There's something I must see you about at once，" and while the other went in search of the light， he stood impatiently uprooting a tuft of grass as he whistled a college song in unsteady tones.