Things went rapidly from bad to worse in the Morley cabin. Martin forgot his prayers and ambitions; he grew subservient to Mary and never strove against her, even when her wrath and temper were directed toward him and Sandy. Discredited and disliked by his neighbours, flouted by the woman who had used him for her own gain, the man became a detestable and pitiable creature. Sandy endured the blows and ratings that became his portion, in the family disturbances, with proud silence. He was making ready and until the hour of his departure came he must bear his part.
It was during the probation and preparatory period that Marcia Lowe, the Cup-of-Cold-Water Lady, came up The Way one golden afternoon and stopped her horse before the post office, General Store and County Club of The Hollow, and, leaning out from the ramshackle buggy, gave a rather high, nasal call to whoever might be within.
CHAPTER II
Tod Greeley, the postmaster, was sitting on his cracker box contemplatively eying the rusty stove enthroned upon its sawdust platform, in the middle of the store. Every man in The Hollow had his own particular chair or box when the circle, known as the County Club, formed for recreation or business. No one presumed to occupy another's place: Tod Greeley's pedestal was a cracker box and its sides were well battered from the blows his heels gave it when emotions ran high or his sentiments differed from his neighbour's. Greeley was not a Hollow man; he had been selected by Providence, as he himself would have said, to perform a service for his country: namely, that of postmaster, storekeeper, and arbiter of things in general. He was a tall, lean man of forty, good looking, indolent, and with some force of character which was mainly evinced by his power of keeping his temper when he was facing a critical situation. While not of The Hollow, he was still with The Hollow on principle.
When Marcia Lowe paused before the store and emitted her call, which flavoured of friendliness and the North, Greeley was vacantly looking into space, hugging his bony knees, and listening to an indignant fly buzzing on the dirty glass of the back window, protesting against any exit being barred to its egress.
It was three o'clock of a late July day and, while the sun was hot, the breeze gave promise of a cool night.
"Ooh! ooh!"
Just at first Greeley thought the fly had adopted a more militant tone.
"Oooh—ooh!"