"In the rain?" Warren asked. "I'm going to smoke another cigar before I turn in. Stay here tonight; you can have my cot. I'd as soon sleep on the floor."
"No, I won't rob you."
"Rob me? Your work tonight would make a stone slab a soft place for me to rest."
"And my mind might turn a bed, formed of the breast feathers of a goose, into a stone slab. Good night."
The hour was late, but a light was burning in old Jasper's house. As Lyman stepped upon the veranda Henry Bostic came out of the sitting room.
"Ah, Mr. Lyman, but you are dripping wet."
"I hadn't noticed it, but it is raining rather hard. You are not going out in it, are you?"
"I have but a short distance to go. I found Miss Annie so entertaining that I didn't know it was so late. I came to invite her to hear me preach the third Sunday of next month, at Mt. Zion, on the Fox Grove road, five miles from town. I should like you to be present."
"Yes, as I was present at your first—"
"Don't mention that, Mr. Lyman," he said, hoisting his umbrella. "That was not wholly free from a spirit of revenge, and I have prayed for pardon. My mother has called on the McElwins to beseech them to forgive me, and I went to the bank today on the same errand."