CHAPTER II.
Teachers and Preachers.
“Fanatics have their dreams, wherewith they weave
A paradise for a sect.”—Keats, “Hyperion” (1820 Edition).
The sultry heat of the April noon rose in tremulous vibrations from the barnyard, next day, when for a moment, absolute silence prevailed. From beneath his sun-splashed hat the shaded face of Bard scowled into the blue shadow of the barn where Mauney stood indolently biting at the end of a wisp of timothy.
“What are yuh mopin’ about?” Bard called sharply. “Wake up! I don’t want no more o’ this here mopin’, understand me. The mare is sold and that’s the end of it. Shake a leg, there, and go hitch up Charlie. You’ve got to drive up to Beulah an’ get this here cheque into the bank afore it closes. D’juh hear?”
Past the end of the kitchen Mauney’s eye caught the retreating figure of his pony being led up the clay road behind the preacher’s buggy. His dishevelled auburn hair was stuck to his glistening forehead, and his clear blue eyes burned with an emotion that gave a bitter firmness to his lips. Before he could pull himself from his mood his father had come with rapid strides near him.
“Are you goin’ to move?” he fiercely demanded, his eyes glaring hatred. “Or am I goin’ to move yuh?”