“Some distance. I’m bound for Kaintuck.”
“Law me—’way to that country? And do you calkelate to walk all the way there?”
“Yes; I prefer walking to riding.”
“Now, stranger, I begin to s’pect you are the preacher I he’rn tell of, who was at the big meetin’ on ‘Coon Creek, a year or two sin’. What mought your name be?”
“John Clark.”
“That’s the very thing. Here, old ’oman; Patsey, come here;” he called to his “better half,” who was in the kitchen in the rear of the house, attending to her domestic concerns.
“What’s wantin’, old man? I’ll be in soon.”
Presently a decent looking female, apparently about forty, with a sun-bonnet on her head, and dressed in a short gown and petticoat of the same stuff as her husband’s garments—cotton and wool mixed—came in. No sooner did she cast her eyes on the preacher than she knew him, and broke out—
“Dear me, if this ain’t Brother Clark, sure as I’m alive!” and she sprang forward and shook hands with him, with as much rude, but hearty simplicity, as if he had been her own brother; and bid him equally welcome.
This recognition of one who appeared as a stranger needs a little explanation.