He looked sharply at Prudence, who looked at the ground and felt grateful for the dusk. Follett looked hard at them both and was plainly interested. The Bishop spoke again.
“I ain’t got no license to say so, but having done that young woman proud by engaging himself to marry her, he might ’a’ got annoyed if any one had ’a’ told him she was being waited on by a handsome young Gentile, gallivantin’ off to cañons day after day—holding hands, too, more than once. Oh, I ain’t saying anything. Young blood is young blood; mine ain’t always been old, and I never blamed the young, but, of course, the needs of the Kingdom is a different matter. Well, I’ll have to be getting along now. We’re going to put up some of the people at our house, and I’ve got to fix to bed mother down in the wagon-box again, I reckon. I’ll say you’ll be with us to-morrow, then, Brother Joel?”
The little bent man’s voice had lost much of its life.
“Yes, Brother Seth, if I’m able.”
“Well, I hope you are.” He arose and looked at the sky. “Looks as if we might have some falling weather. They say it’s been moisting quite a bit up Cedar way. Well,—good night, all!”
When he was gone the matter of his visit was not referred to. With some constraint they talked a little while of other things. But as soon as the two men were alone for the night, Follett turned to him, almost fiercely.
“Say, now, what did that old goat-whiskered loon mean by his hintings about Prudence?”
The little man was troubled.
“Well, the fact is, Brigham has meant to marry her.”
“You don’t mean you’d have let him? Say, I’d hate to feel sorry for holding off on you like I have!”