CHAPTER IX.
IN THE OLD WOMAN'S PARLOR.
It was clearly an insult to ask him to come. They had slandered him, and now they wanted him at their entertainment. He told the boy to tell them that he would not be there. He plowed during the afternoon, with never a look toward the house when he turned at the end of a row. He hoped that they expected him; he would smack his lips over the vicious joy of disappointing them. The invitation had, no doubt, come from Mrs. Blakemore; Miss Strand could have had no hand in it. She did not care enough for him to wish for his company. But it made no difference who did the inviting, he would not go. He went home tired, and was sleepy at the supper table. He took down his pipe and lighted it. Mitchell talked about the woman whose freckles were as gold to him. He had found a valuable rod and reel in the rushes; he would sell them and buy a divorce.
"If you take my advice," said Milford, "you'll let the women alone."
"But a feller that's in love can't take advice."
"Love!" Milford sneered. "You in love?"
"That's what. Fell in love about a quarter to two, last Sunday was a week. What are you doin' with that boiled shirt lyin' out there? Goin' to put it on?"
"I don't know. Is there any water in the rain barrel?"
"Ought to be if it hain't leaked out; poured in there last night. Goin' to take a bath?"
"Don't suppose I want to drink out of the rain barrel, do you?"