Barbara, startled into forgetting that children should be seen and not heard, uttered a shocked "Oh!"
Jed waved his hand. "You see," he said, "even that child's morals are upset by me. I know I ought to want to go to heaven. But when I see the crowd that KNOW they're goin' there, are sartin of it, the ones from this town, a good many of 'em anyhow; when I hear how they talk in prayer-meetin' and then see how they act outside of it, I— Well," with a deep sigh, "I want to go where they ain't, that's all." He paused, and then drawled solemnly, but with a suspicion of the twinkle in his eye: "The general opinion seems to be that that's where I'll go, so's I don't know's I need to worry."
Mrs. Armstrong made no comment on this confession. He did not seem to expect any.
"Ma'am," he continued, "you see what I mean. The trouble's with me, I ain't made right. I ought to let that house; Sam Hunniwell told me so this mornin'. But I—I don't want to. Nothin' personal to you, you understand; but . . . Eh? Who's that?"
A step sounded on the walk outside and voices were heard. Jed turned to the door.
"Customers, I cal'late," he said. "Make yourselves right to home, ma'am, you and the little girl. I'll be right back."
He went out through the dining-room into the little hall. Barbara, in the big rocker, looked up over Petunia's head at her mother.
"Isn't he a funny man, Mamma?" she said.
Mrs. Armstrong nodded. "Yes, he certainly is," she admitted.
"Yes," the child nodded reflectively. "But I don't believe he's wicked at all. I believe he's real nice, don't you?"