“Oh, I don't know. Thinkin' about Mary-'Gusta, I cal'late, set me to rememberin' how we fust met her and about Marcellus's funeral and all. That made me think of the chair, you see. I ain't thought of it afore for years.”
Zoeth nodded. “Shadrach,” he said, “that was a blessed day for you and me, the day when we brought that child home in our old buggy. The Lord put her there, Shadrach.”
“Well, I guess likely He did, maybe, in a way of speakin'. Does seem so, that's a fact.”
“Our lives was pretty sot and narrow afore she came. She's changed everything.”
“That's so. Hello! What's that noise? I declare if it ain't Isaiah liftin' up his voice in song! In a hymn tune! What do you think of that?”
From the kitchen, above the rattle of dishes, Mr. Chase's nasal falsetto quavered shrilly:
“There shall be showers of blessin's—”
The Captain interrupted.
“Hi, you—what's your name—Jennie Lind—come in here,” he hailed.
Mr. Chase appeared, his arms dripping soapsuds. “What do you want, callin' me out of my name?” he demanded.