The old gentleman stood rooted to the spot, one foot in advance as he had just begun his last stride. He had not even raised his head, but was looking up from under frowsy brows with eyes that were grave and startled. Against his will some old whisperings of months ago insistently recurred to him.
Brent now took a few steps back and fearlessly met those accusing eyes.
"One time I tried to hurt that girl," he said squarely. "I got her to meet me at night, because she didn't know any better, and I didn't give a damn. But she showed me what a scoundrel I had intended to be then, and she's just showed me again. She told me about Dale's blind sister then, and now she's telling that all over again, too. It gets next to me, Colonel, and if anybody wants to kick me about your farm till dinner, he can begin when he's ready!"
"All right—er—Gridley," the old gentleman smiled. "In the ratio of your repentance I feel proportionately happy. You've relieved my mind of a cloud that has shut out a lot of sunshine these past months, which otherwise would have been entirely bright. So I absolve you, sir! Now let the talk die."
"Talk?" Brent flushed a deeper red. "Are they saying anything about it?"
"Emphatically no!—not the girls, at any rate. There may have been some—er—slight mention."
"Oh, I hate that," he cried, feeling his soul cringe for the injustice he had brought upon her.
"So do I, sir," the Colonel quickly declared, not understanding. "But you must let me assure you that the girls have given it little attention. They never gossip, sir!—for gossips, sir, are the most arrant of cowards! No one's character is safe from them, sir! They take a grain of fact," the old gentleman's face was becoming flushed as he thundered forth this pet denunciation, "and plant it in soil manured with the rottenest intentions, sir! And it grows into a bastard of truth, exhaling odors as vitiated as the breath of a toad! The very saints could not be revivified from such a poison, much less our poor selves, sir, who strive a lifetime constructing character for those damned polluters to blight with their graveyard whisperings! I detest it, sir! The stench of it is repulsive to honest men and gentle women! But come," he added more genially, "before we spoil our breakfasts."
Miss Liz was waiting at the table and she poured their coffee with more than her usual concern. The Colonel could invariably detect in what humor that dear lady happened to be by the way she rendered him this service. He told her of Mesmie's condition, and portions of the other news imparted by Aunt Timmie—breathing no word of the man-hunt, or what had led to it. For awhile her usually severe face was softened, and then she arose.
"You must both get on without me this morning," she said, with a faint smile. "I must go to that girl, for she needs someone besides Timmie, and Timmie needs rest." At the door she hesitated. "Have I not told you, brother John, that the middle class is our country's safeguard?—that we would be in a sorry plight without it?"