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Bacon spoke slowly:

“You look like a good, husky man to pitch in the barnyard; you’ve too much muscle f’r preachun’.”

“Come and hear me next Sunday, and if you say so then, I’ll quit,” replied Mr. Pill, quietly. “I give ye my word for it. I believe in preachers havin’ a little of the flesh and the devil; they can sympathize better with the rest of ye.” The sarcasm was lost on Bacon, who continued to look at him. Suddenly he said, as if with an involuntary determination:

“Where ye go’n’ to stay t’night?”

“I don’ know; do you?” was the quick reply.

“I reckon ye can hang out with me, ‘f ye feel like ut. We ain’t very purty, ol’ woman an’ me, but we eat. You go along down the road and tell ‘er I sent yeh. Y’ll find an’ ol’ dusty Bible round some’rs–I s’pose ye spend y’r spare time read’n about Joshua an’ Dan’l”—-

“I spend more time reading men. Well, I’m off! I’m hungrier ‘n a gray wolf in a bear-trap.”

And off he went as he came. But he did not whistle; he chewed.

Bacon felt as if he had made too much of a concession, and had a strong inclination to shout after him, and retract his invitation; but he did not, only worked on, with an occasional bear-like grin. There was something captivating in this fellow’s free and easy way.

When he came up to the house an hour or two later, in singular good humor for him, he found the Elder in the creamery, with “the old woman” and Marietta. Marietta was not more won by him than was Jane Bacon, he was so genial and put on so few religious frills.

Mrs. Bacon never put on frills of any kind. She was a most frightful toiler, only excelled (if excelled at all) by her husband. She was still muscular in her age and shapelessness. Unlovely at her best, when about her work in her faded calico gown and flat shoes, hair wisped into a slovenly knot, she was depressing. But she was a good woman, of sterling integrity, and ambitious for her girl.

Marietta was as attractive as her mother was depressing. She was very young at this time and had the physical perfection–at least as regards body–that her parents must have had in youth. She was above the average height of woman, with strong swell of bosom and glorious, erect carriage of head. Her features were coarse, but regular and pleasing, and her manner boyish.

Elder Pill was on the best of terms with them as he watched the milk being skimmed out of the “submerged cans” ready for the “caaves and hawgs,” as Mrs. Bacon called them.

“Dad told you t’ come here ‘nd stay t’ supper, did he? What’s come over him?” said the girl, with a sort of audacious humor.

“Dad has an awful grutch agin preachers,” said Mrs. Bacon, as she wiped her hands on her apron. “I declare, I don’t see how “—-

“Some preachers, not all preachers,” laughed Pill, in his mellow nasal. “There are preachers, and then again preachers. I’m one o’ the t’other kind.”

“I sh’d think y’ was,” laughed the girl.

“Now, Merry Etty, you run right t’ the pig-pen with that milk, whilst I go in an’ set the tea on.”

Mr. Pill seized the can of milk, saying, with a twang: “Show me the way that I may walk therein,” and, accompanied by the laughing girl, made rapid way to the pig-pen just as the old man set up a ferocious shout to call the hired hand out of the cornfield.

“How’d y’ come to send him here?” asked Mrs. Bacon, nodding toward Pill.

“Damfino! I kind o’ liked him–no nonsense about him,” answered Bacon, going into temporary eclipse behind his hands as he washed his face at the cistern.

At the supper table Pill was “easy as an old shoe,” ate with his knife, talked on fatting hogs, suggested a few points on raising clover, told of pioneer experiences in Michigan, and soon won them–hired man and all–to a most favorable opinion of himself. But he did not trench on religious matters at all.