Jagger grunted, and his father smiled.
“There’s one thing ’at shames me,” he continued, “and that’s seeming to make it out ’at I’m better than other folks. I’m no saint, as I happen needn’t tell them ’at lives wi’ me; but I reckoned things up when I was a young man and I come to t’ conclusion ’at there must be a better way o’ living than most folks followed, and I said to myself ’at I’d give t’ Owd Book a fair trial and see if there was aught in it. I read there ’at t’ best way to get on i’ t’ world was to put t’ cart before t’ horse, by doing good to them ’at hate you and praying for them ’at despitefully use you and persecute you. It’s a queer sort o’ teaching when you come to think on’t, but I threshed it out i’ my mind and fun it was right. There’s no other way ’at pays. That’s why I lost naught but my arm when I happened my accident—neither my peace o’ mind nor my goodwill to Baldwin; and that’s why you and Hannah’s had no ’casion to grumble about wet blankets all these years. I’ve waited a long while for my revenge on Baldwin; but you see I’ve getten it at last: ‘If thine enemy hunger, feed him; if he thirst, give him drink’. What think you, lad?”
He raised his eyes as he asked the question, and the look on his son’s face disappointed him. Instead of understanding there was bitterness and resentment: the hot indignation of a loyal and straight-dealing son against the treachery of a false friend. A smile spread slowly over the father’s features as he saw that no reply was forthcoming.
“T’ meat’s a bit over strong, is it?” he went on. “Chew it, lad, while you get t’ taste on’t; and just think on ’at if you’d been Baldwin’s son i’stead o’ mine it’s a thousand to one you’d ha’ been born wi’ his sperrit. Baldwin has no childer—him and Keturah’s t’ last o’ their race, and it’s happen as well—but when t’ time comes ’at he has to hand in his last time-sheet I could like to think it ’ud be a clean ’un. So I’m for giving him a leg up, d’ye see?”
“What have you told me this story for?” Jagger asked. His father’s calmness had affected him and he now had his feelings under control, though he was not yet appeased. “He’s paid for all t’ dirty tricks he’s played me, and I’d rubbed t’ reckoning off t’ slate; but I’m hanged if I can forgive him that empty sleeve.”
“This empty sleeve,” said Maniwel, “is t’ price I’ve paid for t’ man. Say no more about it—I’m satisfied. I’ve tell’d you for two reasons. One on ’em’s this: mebbe Baldwin’ll feel called on to tell you his-self one o’ these days, and I’d like him to know ’at you knew. It ’ud help him and it’ll save you from saying or doing aught you’d have to rue.
“But there’s another thing ’at’s weighed wi’ me: you’ve getten a worse enemy than ever I had. Yon Inman is plotting again’ you, and you’re plotting again’ him, and it means naught but trouble. When you’ve getten used to t’ thought I could like you to try my plan o’ getting rid of a’ enemy.”
“Happen I will,” said Jagger grimly, “when I see him beggared same as Baldwin.”
“If he’d ha’ let me, I’d ha’ tried to save Baldwin from beggary,” replied his father with a calm dignity that showed he had understood the implication.
Jagger flushed hotly. “I didn’t mean that,” he protested and Maniwel said—“Right, lad; there’s no bones broken.”