“We had a very narrow escape ourselves,” said Olive, feeling remarkably little interest in the fire. “Did he say anything else? Who was he?”
“A stranger, I never saw him before. No, he didn’t say anything else, except to tell me that he calkerlated Britishers were mos’ly fools and couldn’t do a day’s work ’gain ’Mericans, no matter what it were, rail-splitting or tobacco-chawin’.”
Brother Green gave a deep gentle laugh, like the distant boom of a waterfall hidden among trees.
“Don’t you think these prairie folk are most conceited?” asked Olive, in some scorn.
“No, not more than other people, Sister,” replied Brother Green somewhat unexpectedly, “they only say what they think with remarkable frankness.”
“But that is conceit,” persisted Olive.
“I am not certain that it is more conceited to say what you think, than to think your thoughts in silence, and be consumed with a vast contempt for all the world. We are a conceited people too.”
“I thought the English prided themselves on not being conceited,” said Olive.
“We pride ourselves on showing no feeling of conceit and if possible on showing no feeling on any other subject either. If an Englishman’s heart were skinned, I think it would weigh up pretty much the same as an American’s. The difference lies in the tongue only.”
“Is that so?” said Olive.