Presently he was shown to his bed....
“I ’low,” said Aunt Tibbie, when the parson was stowed away and she had caught Skipper Jonathan’s wavering eye, “he’d better have more’n that.”
“He—he—he’ve just got t’ have more.”
“He’ve a weak stomach,” Aunt Tibbie apologized. “Poor man!”
“I tells you, Tibbie,” Jonathan declared, “them parsons haves wonderful hard times. They isn’t able t’ get out in the air enough. Too much book-study. Too much brain labor. I wouldn’t change places with a parson, woman, for all the world!”
Aunt Tibbie nodded absently.
“I ’low,” said Jonathan, “I’d better be gettin’ under way for the shop.”
The man drew on his boots and got into his oil-skins, and had his wrists bandaged and went out. It was a long pull to the shop; but his mind was too full of wonder and sly devising to perceive the labor of the way.... And the trader was silting alone in the shop, perched on the counter, slapping his lean calf with a yardstick, while the rain pattered on the roof and the wind went screaming past.
“You got a parson, Jonathan,” said he, accusingly. “Yes, you is.”