“I don’t want any today, thank you, Mrs. Black,” was his reply.
“You ain’t sick?”
“Oh, no, only not hungry.”
Mrs. Black was alarmed when, later in the afternoon, she heard the front door slam, and beheld from a front window Elliot striding down the street. The rain had ceased falling, and there were ragged holes in the low-hanging clouds which revealed glimpses of dazzling blue.
“I do hope he ain’t coming down with a fever or something,” Mrs. Black said aloud. Then she saw Mrs. Deacon Whittle, Lois Daggett, Mrs. Fulsom, and the wife of the postmaster approaching her house in the opposite direction. All appeared flushed and agitated, and Mrs. Black hastened to open her door, as she saw them hurrying up her wet gravel path.
“Is the minister home?” demanded Lois Daggett breathlessly. “I want he should come right down here and tell you what he told me this noon. Abby Daggett seems to think I made it up out of whole cloth. Don’t deny it, Abby. You know very well you said.... I s’pose of course he’s told you, Mrs. Black.”
“Mr. Elliot has gone out,” said Mrs. Black rather coldly.
“Where’s he gone?” demanded Lois.
Mrs. Black was being devoured with curiosity; still she felt vaguely repelled.
“Ladies,” she said, her air of reserve deepening. “I don’t know what you are talking about, but Mr. Elliot didn’t eat any dinner, and he is either sick or troubled in his mind.”