“Are you sure it was him?” they asked. “You know you SAY you was asleep.”
“Am I sure?” repeated Jack scornfully. “Don't I know thet face and beard? Didn't I feel it hangin' over me?”
“What are you going to do about it?” continued the crowd eagerly.
“Wait till he comes out—and you'll see,” said Jack, with dignity.
This was enough for the crowd; they gathered excitedly at the door, where Jack was already standing, looking towards the church. The moments dragged slowly; it might be a long meeting. Suddenly the church door opened and a figure appeared, looking up and down the street. Jack colored—he recognized Polly—and stepped out into the road. The crowd delicately, but somewhat disappointedly, drew back in the saloon. They did not care to interfere in THAT sort of thing.
Polly saw him, and came hurriedly towards him. She was holding something in her hand.
“I picked this up on the church floor,” she said shyly, “so I reckoned you HAD be'n there,—though the parson said you hadn't,—and I just excused myself and ran out to give it ye. It's yourn, ain't it?” She held up a gold specimen pin, which he had put on in honor of the occasion. “I had a harder time, though, to git this yer,—it's yourn too,—for Billy was laying down in the yard, back o' the church, and just comf'bly swallerin' it.”
“Who?” said Jack quickly.
“Billy,—my goat.”
Jack drew a long breath, and glanced back at the saloon. “Ye ain't goin' back to class now, are ye?” he said hurriedly. “Ef you ain't, I'll—I'll see ye home.”