True, Bascom had said all along that they could not go, yet she had gone on cooking and planning. She had even packed most of the things which she would need for housekeeping in the other end of Mary Hopkins’s tent.
Ma’ Jane went out to the barn and looked at the cows, which were ready to eat again, having been fed fully an hour before.
“Drat ye,” said she vindictively. Coming from Ma’ Jane, this might have been considered mild profanity.
Her heart stood still for a moment, then she wept remorsefully on the outstretched nose of the nearest cow. “It’s about time I was goin’ to camp-meetin’,” she said. “If I ain’t gettin’ to be a heathen, I dunno who is.”
As she slowly walked out of the barn, the two cows followed her, and it was at the barn-door that an inspiration came to Ma’ Jane Barnard.
Her face paled a moment, and then flushed crimson. She put her hand to her throat—“them cows lead like dogs,” she whispered.
Bascom Barnard’s work at the corners was over in less time than he had contemplated. In fact, he met Bink Denny coming out of the “First and Last Chance” in such a state of intoxication that Bascom was glad to tear himself away and set forth on the homeward road.
He went slowly and sorrowfully, because if he went home, Ma’ Jane would insist on going to camp-meeting and he would be left alone over Sunday. The few times when he had been left to look after the house had been brief but memorable. Of course, it was no trouble for Ma’ Jane to run the place. She was already reconciled to the staying at home now, anyway, and did not expect to go to the camp-meeting.
Bascom was silent on his way home—only two or three miles off the road—and he really felt that it would do him good to see what a camp-meeting was like once more. He felt that he might finish up the day there at any rate, and then go home and give Ma’ Jane a chance; or he might stay over Sunday at the camp-grounds, and then go back to the corners, find Bink Denny sober, and transact his business according to the first arrangement.