Old Adam’s thin lips flattened until a single loosened tooth midway of his lower gum wagged impishly back and forth.  His face, sunburned and frosted like the hardened rind of some winter fruit, revealed the prominent bones of the skull under the sunken flesh.  One of his gnarled old hands, trembling and red, clutched the clay bowl of his pipe; the other, with the callous skin of the palm showing under the bent fingers, rested half open on the leather patch that covered the knee of his overalls.  A picture of toilworn age, of the inevitable end of all mortal labour, he had sat for hours in the faint sunshine, smiling with his sunken, babyish mouth at the brood of white turkeys that crowded about the well.

“Well, she’s Reuben Merryweather’s granddaughter, suh,” replied Solomon in the place of the elder.  “He was overseer at Jordan’s Journey, you know, durin’ the old gentleman’s lifetime, after the last Jordan died and the place was bought by yo’ uncle.  Ah, ’twas different, suh, when the Jordans war livin’!”

Some furtive malice in his tone caused the stranger to turn sharply upon him.

“The girl’s mother—­who was she?” he asked.

“Janet Merryweather, the prettiest gal that ever set foot on these roads.  Ah, ‘twas a sad story, was hers, an’ the less said about it, the soonest forgotten.  Thar was some folks, the miller among ’em, that dropped dead out with the old minister—­that was befo’ Mr. Mullen’s time—­for not wantin’ her to be laid in the churchyard.  A hard case, doubtless, but a pious man such as I likes to feel sartain that however much he may have fooled along with sinful women in this world, only the most respectable of thar sex will rise around him at the Jedgment.”

“And the father?” inquired the stranger, with a sound as if he drew in his breath sharply.

“Accordin’ to the Law an’ the Prophets she hadn’t any.  That may be goin’ agin natur, suh, but ‘tis stickin’ close to Holy Writ an’ the wisdom of God.”

To this the young man’s only response was a sudden angry aversion that showed in his face.  Then lifting his horse’s head from the trodden grass by the well, he sprang into the saddle, and started, as the miller had done, over the three roads into the turnpike.  Remembering as he passed the gate posts that he had spoken no parting word to the group under the mulberry tree, he raised himself in his stirrups, and called back “Good day to you.  Many thanks,” in his pleasant voice.

CHAPTER II

IN WHICH DESTINY WEARS THE COMIC MASK