They saw Pole, after releasing the preacher's hand, turn out at the side of the arbor, and slowly stalk away towards the spot where Floyd had hitched his horse.
“Perhaps he's going to start back home,” Cynthia said. “It's getting late and cloudy, and he has a long walk before him.”
“That's it,” said Floyd. “And footing it through the woods as dark as it is even now is no simple matter; though Pole really has the instincts of a red Indian. But I don't understand it, for he is not headed towards home.”
There was another earnest talk from another preacher, and then Hillhouse closed the meeting with a prayer.
Leaving Cynthia at the arbor, Floyd went down for his horse. He was not far from the buggy when he saw Pole Baker rise from a flat stone upon which he had been seated. Without looking at him, Pole went to the hitch-rein and unfastened it, and led the restive animal around in the direction he was to go.
“Much obliged to you, old man,” Floyd said, deeply touched by the action. “I could have done that myself.”
“I know it, Nelson,” Pole responded; “but I've got some'n' to say to you, an' as it is late an' may take a minute or two, I thought I'd save all the time I could an' not keep yore little partner waitin'.”
“Oh, you want to see me, do you?”
Pole hesitated, his glance on the ground; the sockets of his big eyes were full-looking, and the muscles of his face and great neck were twitching. Presently he stared Floyd steadily in the eyes and began:
“Nelson, you've knowed me a good many years in the way one man knows a friend an' neighbor, or even a brother, but you don't plumb understand me yit. The Lord God Almighty's made men side by side in life as different as two kinds o' plants, or two sorts o' minerals. Me'n' you is friends, an' I'm a-goin' to say at the start that I love you as a brother, but we see things different—me'n' you do—we act different about some things. That's what I want to see you about.”