“Born here, Scattergood.”

“Know lots of folks, don’t ye?  Got acquainted consid’able in town and the surroundin’ country?”

“A feller ’u’d be apt to in fifty-five year.”

“Call to mind the Meggses that used to live here?”

“Place next to the Newton farm.  Recollect ’em well.”

“Lived next to Ol’ Man Newton, eh?  Forgot that.”  Scattergood had not forgotten it, but quite the contrary.  His interest in the Meggses was negligible; his purpose in mentioning them was to approach the Newtons circuitously and by stealth, as he always approached affairs of importance to him.

“Know ’em well?  Know ’em as well’s you knowed the Newtons?”

“Not by no means.  I’ve knowed Ol’ Man Newton better ’n ’most anybody, seems as though.”

“Um!...  Le’s see....  Had a son, didn’t he?”

“Run off with the organ money,” said Marvin, shortly.

“Remembered suthin’ about him.  Quite a while back.”

“Eight year.  Allus recall the date on account of sellin’ a Holstein heifer to Avery Sutphin the mornin’ follerin’ ... fer cash.”

“Him that was dep’ty sheriff?”

“That’s the feller.”

“Um!...  Ever git a notion what young Mavin up and stole that money fer?”

“Inborn cussedness, I calc’late.”

“Allus seemed to me like Ol’ Man Newton might ‘a’ made restitution of that there money,” said Scattergood, tentatively.

“H’m!” Marvin cleared his throat and glanced up the street.  “Seein’s how it’s you, I dunno but what I kin tell you suthin’ you hain’t heard, nor nobody else.  Young Mavin sent that there money back to his father in a letter to be give to the church—­and the ol’ man burned it.  That’s what he up and done.  Two hunderd good dollars went up in smoke.  Said they was crimes that was beyond restitution or forgiveness, and robbin’ the House of God was one of ’em.”

“Um!...  Now, Marvin, I’d be mighty curious to learn if the ol’ man got that information from God himself or if it come out of his own head....  No matter, I calc’late.  ’Twan’t credit with the church young Mavin was after when he sent back the money, and the Lord he knows the money come, if the organ fund never did find it out.”

“Guess I’ll take a walk down to Spackles’s and look over the steer.  They tell me he dressed clost to nine hunderd.  Hope they contrive to cook him through and through.  Never see a barbecued critter yit that was done....  Folks is beginnin’ to git here.  Guess they won’t be a spare bedroom in town that hain’t full up.”