"That's all very well, Homer," he said. "No man thinks more of Scripture than what I do, in its place; but this ain't its place. This ain't a question of widders, it's a question of the village. Will Jaquith is a crooked stick, and you know it."
"He has been, Brother Rock, he has been!" said Mr. Homer, eagerly. "I grant you the past; but William is a changed man, he is, indeed. He has suffered much, and a new spirit is born in him. His one wish is to be his mother's stay and support. If you were to see him, Brother Rock, and talk with him, I am sure you would feel as I do. Consider what the poet says: 'The quality of mercy is not strained!'"
"Mebbe it ain't, so fur!" said Seth Weaver; "question is, how strong its back is. If I was Mercy, I should consider Willy Jaquith quite a lug. Old man Butters used to say:
"'Rollin' stones you keep your eyes on!
Some on 'em's pie, and some on 'em's pison.'"
"—His appointment would be acceptable to the ladies of the village, I have reason to think," persisted Mr. Homer. "My venerable relative, Mrs. Tree, expressed herself strongly—" (Mr. Homer blinked two or three times, as if recalling something of an agitating nature)—"I may say very strongly, in favor of it; in fact, the suggestion came in the first place from her, though I had also had it in mind."
There was a change in the atmosphere; a certain rigidity of neck and set of chin gradually softened and disappeared. The elders shuffled their feet, and glanced one at another.
"It mightn't do no harm to give him a try," said Abram Cutter. "Homer's ben clerk himself fifteen year, and he knows what's wanted."
"That's so," said the elders.
"After all," said Salem Rock, "it's Homer has the appointin'; all we can do is advise. If you're set on givin' Will Jaquith a chance, Homer, and if Mis' Tree answers for him—why, I dono as we'd ought to oppose it. Only, you keep your eye on him! Meetin's adjourned."
The elders strolled away by ones and twos, each with his word of congratulation or advice to the new postmaster. Seth Weaver alone lingered, leaning on the window-ledge. His eyes—shrewd blue eyes, with a twinkle in them—roamed over the rather squalid little room, with its two yellow chairs, its painted pine table and rusty stove.