“I don't care, Caleb. You ain't done nothin' but contradict me since we started. I've been settin' up all night, and I'm tired out, and there's a draft comin' in 'round these plaguy curtains right on the back of my neck. I'll get cold and die and you'll have a funeral on your hands instead of a weddin'. And I don't know's I'd care much,” desperately.
Caleb choked down his own irritation.
“There, there, Hannah,” he said, “don't talk about dyin' when you're just gettin' ready to live. We won't fret about the minister business. If worst comes to worst I'll give in to a Baptist, I suppose. One reason I did figger on goin' to a Methodist was that, I bein' of that faith, I thought maybe he'd do the job a little cheaper for us.”
“Cheaper? What do you mean? Was you cal'latin' to make a BARGAIN with him?”
“No, no, course not. But there ain't any sense in heavin' money away on a parson more'n on anybody else.”
“Caleb Hammond, how much do you intend givin' that minister?”
Mr. Hammond stirred uneasily on the seat of the carryall.
“Oh, I don't know,” he answered evasively.
“Yes, you do know, too. How much?”
“I don't know. Two or three dollars, maybe.”