Near the gate of the Academy grounds stood Parson Tombs talking to a youth in Rosemont uniform. The student passed on, and the pastor, with an elated face, waved a hand to Garnet. Garnet stopped and the Parson came close.
"Brother Tombs, howdy?"
"Why, howdy-do, Brother Garnet?—Miss Barb!—Johanna." He pointed covertly at the departing youth and murmured to Garnet, "He'll make ow fo'teenth convert since New Year's. And still there is room!—Well, brother, I've been a-hearin' about John March's an' yo'-all's lan' boom, but"—the good man giggled—"I never see a case o' measles break out finer than the lan' business is broke out on you!—And you don't seem to mind it no mo'n—Look here! air you a miracle o' grace, aw what air you?"
"Why, nothing, Brother Tombs, nothing! Nothing but an old soldier who's learned that serenity's always best."
The Parson turned to Barbara and cast a doting smile sidewise upon the old soldier. But Garnet set his face against flattery and changed the subject.
"Brother Tombs, speaking of John March, you know now risky it is for anybody—unless it's you—to say anything to him. Oh, I dare say he's changed, but when he hasn't been converted two months, nor a member of the church three weeks, we mustn't expect him to have the virtues of an old Christian."
"He's changed mo'n I'm at libbety to tell you, Brother Garnet. He's renounced dancing."
"Yes?—Indeed! He's quit dancing. But still he carries two revolvers."
"Why, Brother John Wesley, I—that's so. I've spoke to John about that, but—the fact is——"
Garnet smiled. "His life's in constant danger—that's my very point. The bad weather's protected him thus far, but if it should last five years without a break, still you know that as soon as it fairs off——"