“Not yet. Listen!”
From the kitchen came the sound of voices raised in song.
“Wa-a-a-ay do-o-o-on yon-n-n-n-der in the co-o-orn-field.”
“Drunk!” said Grandma flatly.
“Drinking,” corrected Aunt Emma. “Most of ’em can stand more than Hozie can, and he ain’t drunk until he insists on soloin’ ‘Silver Threads Among the Gold.’ Up to that time he can undress himself and hang up his shirt, but when he starts on ‘Silver Threads’ he can’t even take off his own boots.”
“I wish they’d quit before Reverend Lake comes,” said Mrs. West. “He might not be in accord with such doings.”
“Won’t he?” Aunt Emma laughed softly. “Henry Lake may be pious, but he ain’t puritanical. If he hears ’em, he’ll probably come in through the kitchen. Henry Lake has been givin’ us the gospel for twenty-five years, and no man can do that in this country if he goes too strong against liquor.”
“Honey and Joe ought to be showin’ up,” said Mrs. Bellew.
“Oh, they’ll be here in time,” laughed Aunt Emma. “This is the first time Joe ever got married, and don’t you ever think Honey Bee is goin’ to be absent when there’s a chance to stand up at a weddin’ with Laura Hatton.”
Jim Wheeler came in from the kitchen and halted just inside the room. He was a big, gnarled sort of man, with mild blue eyes and an unruly mop of gray hair. His new boots creaked painfully and he seemed ill at ease in his new black suit and rumpled tie. Jim and Uncle Hozie were brothers, and Jim was the father of the bride-to-be.