"If you don't, you'll be sorry. Jest now I spoke to you about love. It wan't an accident. No. An' if he don't let me have the money, Jim the preacher may be ashamed to preach ag'in. An' he won't talk no mo' honeysuckle to you, nuther. He will disappear, an' yo' heart may grieve, but yo' jedgment will be glad."
"You infamous scoundrel."
He bowed to her. "The scoundrel sometimes tells the truth, an' when he do it's the worst truth in the world; an' if I'm a scoundrel that's the sort of truth I'm a tellin'."
"Go away from here, you brute."
"All right, all right. I have give you yo' chance, an' now I must have it out with the old sheep. When I see you ag'in yo' eyes may not be so bright. A hot pillow, turned over an' over in the night, when the rooster crows an' thar ain't no sleep, ain't good fur the eyes. I'm goin' now, an' you better think it over. Good-day, ma'm. I have give you yo' chance an' my conscience is clear."
He walked off up the road and she was about to go into the house when Old Jasper came along, with an axe on his shoulder. Seeing that she was disturbed, he inquired if anything were wrong.
"Why, that man Peters was here a moment ago, and—"
"Oh, don't pay no attention to him. He's a joker," said the old man, and going to a bench near the fence, poured water into a tin can, went to the grind-stone, and upon it began slowly to pour a stream.
Mrs. Mayfield stood near, watching him, but her mind reverted to Peters. "But he says—"
"Never mind what he says," the old fellow broke in, grinding his axe. "We all ought to be kind to him." He examined the edge of the axe. "For I don't think he's goin' to live very long."