FullReads

“I never was over this road before,” said the stranger. “I s’pose you ladies are well acquainted all along.”

“We have often traveled it in past years. We was over this part of it last week goin’ and comin’ from the county conference,” said Mrs. Flagg in a dignified manner.

“What persuasion?” inquired the fellow-traveler, with interest.

“Orthodox,” said Miss Pickett quickly, before Mrs. Flagg could speak. “It was a very interestin’ occasion; this other lady an’ me stayed through all the meetin’s.”

“I ain’t Orthodox,” announced the stranger, waiving any interest in personalities. “I was brought up amongst the Freewill Baptists.”

“We’re well acquainted with several of that denomination in our place,” said Mrs. Flagg, not without an air of patronage.

“They’ve never built ’em no church; there ain’t but a scattered few.”

“They prevail where I come from,” said the traveler. “I’m goin’ now to visit with a Freewill lady. We was to a conference together once, same’s you an’ your friend, but ‘t was a state conference. She asked me to come some time an’ make her a good visit, and I’m on my way now. I didn’t seem to have nothin’ to keep me to home.”

“We’re all goin’ visitin’ to-day, ain’t we?” said Mrs. Flagg sociably; but no one carried on the conversation.

The day was growing very warm; there was dust in the sandy road, but the fields of grass and young growing crops looked fresh and fair. There was a light haze over the hills, and birds were thick in the air. When the stage-horses stopped to walk, you could hear the crows caw, and the bobolinks singing, in the meadows. All the farmers were busy in their fields.

“It don’t seem but little ways to Baxter, does it?” said Miss Pickett, after a while. “I felt we should pass a good deal o’ time on the road, but we must be pretty near half-way there a’ready.”

“Why, more’n half!” exclaimed Mrs. Flagg. “Yes; there’s Beckett’s Corner right ahead, an the old Beckett house. I haven’t been on this part of the road for so long that I feel kind of strange. I used to visit over here when I was a girl. There’s a nephew’s widow owns the place now. Old Miss Susan Beckett willed it to him, an’ he died; but she resides there an’ carries on the farm, an unusual smart woman, everybody says. Ain’t it pleasant here, right out among the farms!”

“Mis’ Beckett’s place, did you observe?” said the stranger, leaning forward to listen to what her companions said. “I expect that’s where I’m goin’ Mis’ Ezra Beckett’s?”

“That’s the one,” said Miss Pickett and Mrs. Flagg together, and they both looked out eagerly as the coach drew up to the front door of a large old yellow house that stood close upon the green turf of the roadside.

The passenger looked pleased and eager, and made haste to leave the stage with her many bundles and bags. While she stood impatiently tapping at the brass knocker, the stage-driver landed a large trunk, and dragged it toward the door across the grass. Just then a busy-looking middle-aged woman made her appearance, with floury hands and a look as if she were prepared to be somewhat on the defensive.

“Why, how do you do, Mis’ Beckett?” exclaimed the guest. “Well, here I be at last. I didn’t know’s you thought I was ever comin’. Why, I do declare, I believe you don’t recognize me, Mis’ Beckett.”

“I believe I don’t,” said the self-possessed hostess. “Ain’t you made some mistake, ma’am?”

“Why, don’t you recollect we was together that time to the state conference, an’ you said you should be pleased to have me come an’ make you a visit some time, an’ I said I would certain. There, I expect I look more natural to you now.”

Mrs. Beckett appeared to be making the best possible effort, and gave a bewildered glance, first at her unexpected visitor, and then at the trunk. The stage-driver, who watched this encounter with evident delight, turned away with reluctance. “I can’t wait all day to see how they settle it,” he said, and mounted briskly to the box, and the stage rolled on.