“Well, I don't intend to tell you,” said the old woman; “besides, it would take a week. I spun the finest fabric of falsehood that was ever made. And I'm not done yet, for I've got to keep it up, and not let it lop off too suddenly.”
“Well, do you think there will be any living chance for me?” the preacher said.
“Yes, I do—that is, if you won't push matters too fast and will be patient. I have a plan now that you will like. Didn't you tell me you were going to preach two sermons this month at Cartersville?”
“Yes, I take Brother Johnston's place for two weeks while he goes off for his vacation.”
“Well,” said Mrs. Porter, “you know Nathan's brother George lives there. In fact, his wife and daughters belong to Mr. Johnston's church. George is a well-to-do lawyer, and his children dote on Cynthia; now I'm going to send her down there for a change.”
“Oh, that will be simply fine!” Hillhouse cried, his face aglow.
“Yes, and if you can't make hay while the sun shines down there, you'll deserve to fail. Cynthia has promised to give Floyd up, and he's agreed not to bother her any more. Now you slip back into the woods. I wouldn't have her see you here at this time of day for anything. When she gets her thinking apparatus to work she's going to do a lot of wondering, anyway.”