’Squire Hardy looked exultant, while Deacon Cornhill was dumfounded. No one had dared to speak a word in his behalf.
“What have you done, Elihu?” asked his wife, who had but a vague understanding of the situation.
“Don’t get ’scited, Mandy; it’ll soon blow over. Fri’nds,” he continued; addressing the crowd, “don’t misjudge your neighbors. These poor folks are all honest, as I am willing to vouch. Why, if it hadn’t been for this boy I shouldn’t have been living to come home. He not only saved my money, but my life, and I’ll stand by him now!”
“Good for you, deacon!” some one was bold enough to cry out, when a faint cheer followed. This encouraged him to resume:
“But if you don’t want these poor folks in your houses, I’ll look ’em up some places. They can stop at my place to-night. But here we are, keeping this sick man and woman here, to say nothing of the rest. I wish I had my two-hoss jingle wagon here, I swan, I do!”
At first no reply was made to this, but finally a farmer from the upper part of the town said:
“If you want to go arter your wagon, deacon, you may have my team to go with, only if you’ll leave a barrel of flour that is in the wagon at Widder Short’s.”
Deacon Cornhill gladly accepted this offer, and he lost no time in starting, saying, as he clambered into the high-backed seat:
“You can go with me if you want to, Rob.”
“I thank you, sir, but I had rather remain with mother and the rest. I think it will be best for me to do so.”