“Yes,” said Scattergood, “seems as though you had a right to know.”

“Folks is passin’ it about that he’s comin’ home.  Is there any truth into it?”

“I calc’late it’s jest talk,” said Scattergood.  “Nobody knows where he is.”

“He’ll come sometime,” she said.

“And you calc’late to keep on waitin’ fer him to come?”

“Until I’m dead—­and after that, if it’s allowed.”

“I wisht,” said Scattergood, “there was suthin’ I could do to mend it all.”

“Nobody kin ever do anythin’,” she said....  “But if he should venture back, calc’latin’ it had all blown over and been forgot!...  His father’d see him put in prison—­and I—­I couldn’t bear that, it seems as though.”

“There’s a bad thing about borrowin’ trouble,” said Scattergood.  “No matter how hard you try, you can’t ever pay it back.  Wait till he croaks, and then do your worryin’.”

“I’ve got a feelin’ he’s goin’ to come,” she said, and turned away wearily.  “I thought maybe you’d know.  That’s why I came in, Mr. Baines.”

“G’-by, Mattie.  G’-by.  Come ag’in when you feel that way, and you needn’t to buy no tack hammer for an excuse.”

Scattergood slumped down in his chair on the store’s piazza, and began pulling his round cheeks as if he had taken up with some new method of massage.  It was a sign of inward disturbance.  Presently a hand stole downward to the laces of his shoes—­a gesture purely automatic—­and in a moment, to the accompaniment of a sigh of relief, his broad feet were released from bondage and his liberty-loving toes were wriggling with delight.  Any resident of Coldriver passing at that moment could have told you Scattergood Baines was wrestling with some grave difficulty.

“It stands to reason,” said he to himself, “that ever’body has a reason for ever’thing, except lunatics, and lunatics think they got a reason.  Now, Mavin he wa’n’t no lunatic.  He wouldn’t have stole church money and run off the night before his weddin’ jest to exercise his feet.  They hain’t no reason, as I recall it, why he needed two hunderd dollars.  Unless it was to git married on....  And instid of that, it busted up the weddin’.  I calc’late that matter wa’n’t looked into sharp enough ... and eight years has gone by.  Lots of grass grows up to cover old paths in eight year.”

A small boy was passing at the moment, giving an imitation of a cowboy pursuing Indians.  Scattergood called to him.

“Hey, bub!  Scurry around and see if ye kin find Marvin Preston.  Uh-huh!  ‘F ye see him, tell him I’m a-settin’ here on the piazza.”

The small boy dug his toes into the dust and disappeared up the street.  Presently Marvin Preston appeared in answer to the indirect summons.

“How be ye, Marvin?  Stock doin’ well?”

“Fust class.  See the critter they’re figgerin’ on barbecuin’?  He’s a sample.”

“Um!...  Lived here quite a spell, hain’t you, Marvin?  Quite a spell?”