“‘Hiram,’ she sais, ‘why was you fiddlin’? I thot you was never comin’.’
“Another second an’ I was th’oo the willers an’ on the bank. There, settin’ in a boat, her hands on the oars ready to pull away, was Susan Billings.”
The Patriarch beat his cane softly on the floor and hummed a snatch of a tune.
There came a short, quick puffing as the Loafer drew on his pipe, until the bright coals shone in the darkness.
“But Sam Washin’ton——”
The old man arose slowly.
“I don’t keer ’bout Sam Washin’ton. I must be goin’ home. I’ll git the rhuem’tism on sech a night sure, fer I’ve no horse-chestnut in me pocket.”