"They've stopped in the yard," yelled Paul, putting his head in the doorway.
I headed the rush to the back window, then one more rush brought us all into the yard, Mr. Fairman in the rear, supporting the ladies, while Paul, who revels in sudden excitement, skipped about us in glee. The driver of the first wagon was Peter Waydean; the professional person descending with his back to us was the Rev. Daniel Hughes. He came forward with a genial smile and greeted me warmly.
"Mr. Carton," he said, "we have come to take advantage of——"
My arm was gripped from behind. "Pay him to take it away—at once," whispered Aunt Sophy in my ear, with fierce energy, pressing her purse into my hand.
There was a sudden silence; the dramatic moment had arrived. I stepped back and courteously introduced Mr. Hughes to Aunt Sophy, to Marion, to Mr. Fairman. In a few simple and carefully chosen words I explained that Mr. Hughes and my neighbors had come at my request to take one-half of my crop for the benefit of the church. Then the minister made a most handsome acknowledgment, and I tried to look deprecating. There was rapt attention on the part of the listeners, the men on the wagons being visibly impressed, those at the rear craning their necks to get a better view of the tableau. Aunt Sophy beamed gratification; her husband sighed regretfully, as if he thought the contribution rather large. And in Marion's eyes I read the most charming and complete forgiveness that could fall to the lot of an erring husband; indeed, they were brimming with such perfect trust and confidence in my innate nobility of character that I instantly resolved to become even more worthy of her esteem.
We watched the long line of wagons pass through the barnyard and round the end of the barn on the way to the back fields, and as I stood slightly in advance of the others I heard Mr. Fairman wonder in a low tone if I proposed to run for the legislature.
"Just like a thing your Uncle Philip would have done!" murmured Aunt Sophy to Marion.
A fleeting spasm crossed Mr. Fairman's face, then his calm serenity returned. I fancy that Uncle Philip had better be dropped, or Aunt Sophy's husband's admiration for me may lapse.
On the last wagon rode Abner Davis. He returned my salute with respectful solemnity, and I could scarcely repress a smile of triumph as I recalled his derisive remark that I was not a regular farmer. Paul, some latent boyish instinct stirring within him, ran after the wagon and clung to the tailboard, an unheard of feat for him.