But Heman had bent his head, and was moving along with the rest, like a man under a burden.
"No," said he, drearily. "I can't. You come along."
His tone was quite conclusive; and Brad, albeit wondering, said no more. The three packed themselves into the pung, and drove away. Heman was conscious of some dull relief in remembering that he need not pass Roxy again on the road, for he heard her voice ring out clearly from a group near the church. He wondered if anybody would go home with her, and whether she minded the dark "spell o' woods" by the river. No matter! It was of no use. She must get used to her own company.
The Widder was almost torpid from her long sojourn by the stove; but the tingling air roused her at last, and she spoke, though mumblingly, remembering her tooth,—
"Proper nice tunes, wa'n't they? Was most on 'em new?"
But Brad could not hear, and left it for Heman to answer; and Heman gave his head a little restive shake, and said, "No." At his own gate, he stopped.
"I guess I won't car' you down home," he said to Brad.
It was only a stone's-throw, Brad hesitated.
"No, I, didn't mean for ye to," answered he, "but I'll stop an' help unharness."
"No," said Heman, gently. "You better not. I'd ruther do it." Even a friendly voice had become unbearable in his ears.