He whirled on his heel and pointed up the street. They all could see the gate of the Willard place. A woman was standing there waiting, and against her pretty white gown was silhouetted the figure of a shaggy dog.
“Now, the straight facts are, Uncle Lys, my wife wants me home every night to help water the garden. I’ve coaxed and teased, but she won’t let me be a judge.”
A pucker of mirth came around his lips.
“It’s awful to be bossed around that way by a woman, Uncle Lys.”
“Oh, you darnation fool!” snorted the old man, making a swipe at the lawyer with his cane.
Squire Phin dodged in mock terror and went away laughing.
Uncle Aquarius Wharff had come up and taken his favourite position on the platform to study the evening skies.
“How is it looking to-night?” asked the lawyer, kindly humouring the old man’s vagary.
“Clouds is master fine things with the sun-fire behind ’em, ain’t they, Squire?” returned Uncle Wharff. “Look at ’em, all splattered with colours that the cherubim has been busy all day a-mixin’ so’s to have ‘em ready for the sunset time. Blazin’ with glory, that’s what they be! Seems as if you could jump off’n Witch-Run Hill straight into the hereafter. Sometimes it has seemed to me that p’raps the angels do open the gates once in a while at sunset time jest to see if they are well ’iled ag’inst the Gre’t Day of the Hereafter. It’s a spankin’ fine prospect out there now, Squire. You take that mixtur’ of gold and roses and all them colours that make your heart feel swelly inside, and it means settled weather for a long time to come, Squire, for a long time to come!”
The lawyer patted the shoulder of the old man’s sun-faded coat.