They were interested, these wives, in the operation; they resented disturbance.
“Well,” Aunt Esther retorted, “I ’low, anyhow, he don’t know much about heart-trouble.”
Parson Lute, unconscious of this watchful observation, frankly sighed. The hearts of men, I know, contain no love more sweet and valuable than that which animated his desire. He mused for an interval. “Do you know the portion of the wicked?” he asked, in loving-kindness, without harshness whatsoever.
“Yes, sir.”
“What is it?”
It seemed she would appease him. She was ingratiating, now, with smile and answer. “Hell, sir,” she answered.
“Are you prepared for the change?”
’Twas a familiar question, no doubt. Elizabeth’s conversion had been diligently sought. But the lean face of Parson Lute, and the fear of what he might do, and the solemn quality of his voice, and his sincere and simple desire seemed so to impress Elizabeth that she was startled into new attention.
“Yes, sir,” she said.