"I slid out 'twixt the benches on one side, an' went round to the stand an' spoke to Brother Quagmire, who wus leadin'; he's the big, white-headed man they say looks like Moody an' has the scalps o' more sinners in 'is belt than any man on the war-path. When I tol' 'im what wus up, he giggled an' said, 'God bless 'im, Mitch is a wheel-hoss!' an' with that he busted out singin' 'How firm a foundation, ye saints o' the Lord,' an' he waved his hands up an' down like a buzzard's wings, an' went up our aisle, a-clappin' an' singin' to beat the Dutch. I never seed the like before. I wusn't cryin' fer the same reason 'at the rest of 'em wus, but the tears wus jest a-streamin' down my face like a leaky well-bucket, fer I believed the thing wus goin' to work, an' I wus thinkin' how glad you'd be. She looked up an' seed my face an' busted out cryin'. Then Brother Mitchell ketched 'er up in his arms an' yelled: 'You little, ol', triflin' thing, I'm a-gwine to put you in the arms o' yore Redeemer,' an' then I jest couldn't help cryin'. Luke seed me give way an' sneeked off to water the hosses. John, she was the happiest creetur God ever made. She laid 'er old bare head in my lap an' cried like a baby. I never railly loved 'er before, but I did then. Somehow she seemed to be my own mother come back to life ag'in. But she didn't shout an' take on like the rest. She jest cried an' cried an' had the youngest look on 'er face I ever seed on a ol' person. Once she said, sez she, 'I'm goin' back to put a grave-rock over Jasper's remains,' an' then I remembered folks said she wus too stingy to do that when Dawson died. She looked like she wanted to talk about you, but I didn't feel called on to fetch up the subject. After awhile she went out to the wagon whar her carpet-bag wus, an' got up in one o' the cheers an' begun to stitch on some'n. I wus puzzled right sharp, fer it wus a Sunday, an' it looked like a funny thing fer a body to do, but atter awhile she come to me with some'n wrapped up in a paper—I'll show it to you in a minute—an' give it to me. It was a pair uv her best knit wool socks. You know some old women think it's a mark o' great respect to give a pair o' socks to anybody that they've knit the'rselves.
"'I want you to take the socks,' sez she, 'an' give 'em to the right person,' sez she, awful bashful like. You know, John, I don't believe all the religion this side o' the burnin' lake kin make some folks beg a body's pardon, not ef they wanted to wuss than anything on earth. She is one o' that sort. I 'lowed right off 'at the socks wus fer you an' started to tell 'er how glad you'd be to git 'em when, all at once, I noticed a letter M worked in red wool on 'em. It was a letter M as plain as anything could be, a big letter M, 'an' that throwed me. Then I thought about Brother Mitchell's name beginnin' with a M, an' so I said, sez I, 'So you want me to give 'em to Brother Mitchell, do you?' An' 'en she flared up. 'Who said a word about Brother Mitchell?' she axed. I seed she wusn't pleased by my mistake, an' so I tried my level best to think o' somebody else with a M to his name, but I couldn't to save my neck, so at last I give it up. 'Yo're entirely too mysterious fer me, Mis' Dawson,' sez I. 'I can't, fer the life o' me, think uv one soul you know whose name begins with a M.' 'M,' sez she, 'who said that was a letter M? Yo're jest a-puttin' on. You know that ain't no M.'
"'That's what it is,' sez I. 'I haven't waited till I'm old enough to have gran'children to l'arn my a b c's.'
"She snatched the socks frum me, an' I 'lowed she wus goin' to throw 'em away, but she turned 'em upside down an' helt 'em before my eyes. 'Do you call that a M?' sez she, an' shore 'nough it was as plain a W as I ever laid eyes on.
"'Oh!' sez I, 'now I see. Do you want me to give 'em to John Westerfelt?'
"But she wouldn't say narry a word. I seed how the land lay, fer I knowed she'd ruther die, religion ur no religion, 'an come right out in so many words an' say she wus sorry. You know I believe as I'm a-settin' heer 'at thar'll be folks meetin' on the golden sands of eternity, by the River of Life, 'at'll pass one another with the'r noses in the air; but I'll take that back. I reckon thar won't be no noses, nur no air, as fer that matter; folks that's read up on sech matters says everything will be different. The Lord knows I hope it will be. I want a change. But I am gettin' away frum Mis' Dawson. Then I up an' told 'er p'int-blank I wus goin' to give the socks to you with the compliments of the day, an' ef she objected she'd better put in 'er complaint in time, but she jest walked back an' set down in front o' the stand. John, she's that sorry fer all she's said and done 'at she can't talk about it. These heer socks is all the proof you need. I don't think she wants to meet you face to face nuther. She's goin' home in the mornin' in Sam Hambright's wagon. Lord! Peter Slogan an' his wife never 'll know what to make uv 'er. I'd give a purty to be thar when she comes, fer they won't know she's converted, an' she'd be strung up by the toes ruther 'n tell 'em right out."
Mrs. Bradley stood up, and then quickly sat down again. "I thought I'd get them socks out'n the dinner-basket, but I heer Luke a-comin'. He's like a fish out o' water. He seed me a-takin' on with Mis' Dawson, an' he thinks I've got a fresh dose o' religion. I didn't let 'im know no better, an' he wus grum all the way home. He can't put up with a Christian of the excitable sort. Hush, don't say a word; watch me devil him, but ef you don't keep a straight face I'll bust out laughin'. Lordy, I feel good somehow—I reckon it's beca'se yo're shet o' that old woman's persecutions."
Just then Bradley entered and laid his hat on the bed. Westerfelt now noticed the unsettled expression of his face and smiled as he thought of the innocent cause of it.
"Well," said Bradley, "are you through with John? It's high time we wus havin' some'n t' eat."
"Yes," said his wife, with a doleful expression of countenance, "I reckon I'm through with him. Set down in that cheer, Luke. I've been talkin' to John about his speritual welfare, an' it's yore time now. We've got to turn over a new leaf, Luke—me 'n' you has; we've jest gone fur enough in iniquity—that is, you have; I've meant well enough all along."