The girl sat looking steadily across at her mother. Finally she leaned forward and asked:
“What did Smythe ask you to do, ma?”
“Did I say he asked me to do anythin’?” flared the widow with a start.
“No, but I know he did. What was it?”
The mother’s eyes blazed indignantly.
“I wasn’t goin’ to speak about it,” she said, “ ’cause Mr. Smythe said it was the duty of a Christian not to let his right hand know what anyone else’s was doin’, or somethin’ like that, meanin’ that whatever I did in the cause of Christianity should be kept to myself. He preached me a sermon here and he said that the Bushwhackers was a poor lot of misguided men who needed enlightenment. He said they was in danger of havin’ their property-deeds took from them by force, and they was in need of the help of a good Christian man. He said my duty was to go over there and reason with ’em and, suggest to ’em that they give over their deeds to him for safe-keepin’. I said I would, and was goin’ over to McTavish’s to-morrow to try and get ’em to let Mr. Smythe take care of their deeds for ’em. I’m not goin’ now,” finished the woman; “no, not a step.”
Mary Ann made as if to speak, then looked at her mother.
“I see the cat out on the shed, Tommy,” she said.
The boy jumped, and when he had vanished, with the poker, through the doorway, Mary Ann said hesitatingly:
“If Bill Paisley ever asks you if I’m engaged to the—teacher, you know what to tell him, ma.”