"Well, the more light I get, the less I'll want a popish emblem on top of the meeting-house." Here Nat struck his forehead, then gazing at Mary with an expression of anger, "Have you come so far with me," he said, "to quarrel at last? Bah! you are a goose." With this he turned on his heel and walked off, muttering to himself and evidently very much excited.
Poor Mary did not open her lips again that day, but helped build the log-house with the greatest good-will. Nor did Putnam address her a single word. In fact, it was not until a week had gone by and the dwelling was almost finished that he so far recovered from his ill humor as to speak to her in a friendly way.
"Mary," said he, looking proudly up at the mud-plastered chimney, "this is a good beginning. The first house is always the hardest to erect; and you've worked like a beaver. Tell me, now, are you still of the same mind about the cross? Will you stay away from meeting unless I give up my point?"
"I will," replied the girl firmly. "I want a Catholic Church, or none at all."
"Is my 'Blessing' in earnest?"
"Yes, and praying hard that God may open your eyes to the truth."
"Open my eyes! Well, you're the first mortal ever insinuated that Nat Putnam wasn't wide-awake. But enough; there's a split between us nothing can mend. Alas!" Here he walked off to the hill muttering, "What a pity! what a pity! Ignorant as she is, there's yet something about her which goes to my heart. I love Mary O'Brien. I might even ask her to become my wife, if she hadn't such foolish notions about religion. But not content with making the sign of the cross afore every meal, she actually wants one put on top of the meeting-house. What an idea! A cross! A thing never seen on this virgin soil till that old preacher came along."
For more than an hour the youth wandered about the hillside, lamenting Mary's obstinacy and superstition, until at length he heard her blowing the horn for dinner.
"Let her blow," he said, "I'm in no humor to eat anything. I'll just lay down and take a nap." With this he threw himself on the ground, and was about settling his head on a comfortable spot, which seemed as if intended by nature for a pillow, when he gave a start and rose to his feet. "As I live," he cried, "this is a grave! And if there isn't a cross at one end of it!—and some thing carved upon the wood—what can it be?" Here he stooped, and, after brushing away a little moss which partly covered the knife-cuts, spelt out the words,
"May his soul rest in peace!"