“Uncle Barnabas,” said David thoughtfully, “what is your religion?”
Barnabas meditated.
“Wal, Dave, I don’t know as I hev what you might call religion exackly. I b’lieve in payin’ a hundred cents on the dollar, and a-helpin’ the man that’s down, and––wal, I s’pose I come as nigh bein’ a Unitarian as anything.”
The distribution of the purchases now began. Sometimes the good housewife, herself, came out to receive the parcels and to hear the latest 87 news from town. Oftener, the children of the household were the messengers, for Barnabas’ pockets were always well filled with candy on town days. At one place Barnabas stopped at a barn by the roadside and surreptitiously deposited a suspicious looking package. When he was in front of the next farmhouse a man came out with anxious mien.
“All right, Fred!” hailed Barnabas with a knowing wink. “I was afeerd you’d not be on the watchout. I left it in the manger.”
They did not reach the farm until the dinner hour, and the conversation was maintained by M’ri and Barnabas on marketing matters. David spent the afternoon in being initiated in field work. At supper, M’ri asked him suddenly:
“To whom did you give the flowers, David?”
“I’ve made a story to it, Aunt M’ri, and I’m going to tell it to Janey. Then you can hear.”
M’ri smiled, and questioned him no further.
When the day was done and the “still hour” had come, Janey and David, hand in hand, 88 came around the house and sat down at her feet. It was seldom that any one intruded at this hour, but she knew that David had come to tell his story.