And just then Enoch came in, and approached the water-shelf.
"Don't keer how you polish it, a brass lantern an' coal ile is like murder on a man's hands. It will out."
He was thinking of the gruel, and putting off the evil hour. It had been his intention to boldly announce that he hadn't taken his medicine, that he never would again unless he needed it, and, moreover, that he was going to eat his supper to-night, and always, as long as God should spare him, etc., etc., etc.
But he had no sooner found himself in the presence of long-confessed superior powers than he knew that he would never do any of these things.
His wife was thinking of the gruel too when she encouraged delay by remarking that he would better rest up a bit before eating.
"And I reckon you better soak yo' hands good. Take a pinch o' that bran out o' the safe to 'em," she added, "and ef that don't do, the Floridy water is in on my bureau."
When finally Enoch presented himself, ready for his fate, she was able to set the mush pudding, done to a fine brown, before him, and her tone was really tender as she said:
"This ain't very hearty ef you're hungry; but you can eat it all. There ain't no interference in it with anything you've took."
The pudding was one of Enoch's favorite dishes, but as he broke its brown surface with his spoon he felt like a hypocrite. He took one long breath, and then he blurted:
"By-the-way, wife, this reminds me, I reckon you'll haf to fetch me another o' them pills. I dropped that one out in the grass—that is, ef you think I still stand in need of it. I feel consider'ble better'n I did when I come in this evenin'."