"Go, I tell you, or I will throw you out of the house."
"Throw po', old, harmless Tildy out of the house? Ha, ha! Brother Mayberry!"
She took a horse-pistol from under her apron. "Buckshot in this, Brother Mayberry; ha, buckshot."
The preacher sank down on a chair. He did not care to die. In life there was such a bright promise of the good he could accomplish. He could not marry the hag, but there she stood with her awful weapon. Could he not rush upon her?
"No, you can't, Brother Mayberry," she said, lifting the pistol. She was reading his thoughts. Could he not pretend that he would marry her, and afterward make his escape?
"No, you can't, Brother Mayberry," she said. "The jestice uv the peace is waitin' outside with the license. Oh, no, Brother Mayberry, I'll not give you a chance ter run away. Wouldn't it be awful fur the people ter come here ter-morrer an' find Brother Mayberry with a hole through his beautiful head? Must I call the jestice uv the peace, ur shoot you?"
"Merciful heavens, what is to become of me? I cannot die this way."
"Yes you can, Brother Mayberry."