I seen a change in the parson that evenin’. When he come down to the post-office, them brown eyes of his’n was plumb black, and his face was redder’n Sam Barnes’s. “Things is goin’ to happen,” I says to myself, “’r I ain’t no judge of beef.”
Sunday night, you know, a-course, where the boys went. But I drawed lots with myself and moseyed over to the school-house to keep a bench warm. And here is when that new deal was laid out on the table fer you’ little friend Cupid!
I slid in and sit down clost to the door. Church wasn’t begun yet, and the dozen ’r so of women was a-waitin’ quieter’n mice, some of ’em readin’ a little, some of ’em leanin’ they haids on the desks, and some of ’em kinda peekin’ through they fingers t’ git the lay of the land. Wal, I stretched my neck,–and made out t’ count more’n fifty spit-balls on a life-size chalk drawin’ of the school-ma’am.
Next thing, the parson was in and a-pumpin’ away–all fours–at the organ, and the bunch of us was on our feet a-singin’––
| “Yield not to tempta-a-ation, ’Cause yieldin’ is sin. Each vic’try––” |
We’d got about that far when I shut off, all of a suddent, and cocked my haid t’ listen. Whose voice was that?–as clear, by thunder! as the bugle up at the Reservation. Wal, sir, I just stood there, mouth wide open.
| “Some other to win. Strive manfully onwards––” |
Then, I begun t’ look ’round. Couldn’t be the Kelly kid’s maw (I’d heerd her call the hawgs), ner the teacher, ner that tall lady next her, ner––
Spotted the right one! Up clost to the organ was a gal I’d never saw afore. So many was in the way that I wasn’t able t’ git more’n a squint at her back hair. But, say! it was mighty pretty hair–brown, and all sorta curly over the ears.
When the song was over, ole lady Baker sit down just in front of me; and as she’s some chunky, she cut off nearly the hull of my view. “But, Cupid,” I says to myself, “I’ll bet that wavy hair goes with a sweet face.”