“Yes, Miss Pepper?”

“Oh, my sakes! you see—­’Bishy dear, come here a minute, won’t you?”

Kyan approached, the picture of desolation.

“What do you want?” he asked gruffly.

“Heavens to Betsy!  Don’t look so sour.  A body’d think you was goin’ to be hung, to look at you.  ’Bishy, you tell Mr. Ellery all about it, there’s a dear.  He’ll tell you, Mr. Ellery; and remember we count on you.  Neither me nor Caleb wont have nobody else.”

She seized Mr. Pratt by the arm and led him hastily away.  Kyan looked after them.

“Hung?” he muttered.  “I wish, by godfreys mighty, I had the hangin’ of some folks!  I’d put a tighter collar on ’em than they’ve got now, I bet you!”

The minister’s lips twitched.  He knew what was coming.  Hints of a surprising nature had been circulating about Trumet.

“What’s the matter, Mr. Pepper?” he asked.

“Matter?  Matter enough!  You know what she’s goin’ to do?  She’s goin’ to marry that!”

The last word was emphasized by a furious gesticulation toward the back of the gentleman from Sandwich.

“Who?  Mr. Pratt?  Is your sister to marry him?  Indeed!  I congratulate them both—­and you.”

“Me?  What in tunket—­I ask your pardon, Mr. Ellery, for talkin’ so in the meetin’ house—­but what are you congratulatin’ me for?”

“Why, because your sister is to have a good husband; at least people speak highly of him.”

“Ugh!”

“And because—­well, Mr. Pepper, you have been quite confidential with me; we have shared secrets, you know; and I thought possibly the new arrangement might make it a bit more pleasant for you.”

“Pleasant?  How?”

“I suppose Mr. Pratt will take his bride home to Sandwich, and you, being here alone, will be more free.”

“Free?” Kyan repeated the word wrathfully.  “Free!  I’ll be about as free as a settin’ hen under a barrel, I will.  Is a feller free when he’s got two pickin’ at him instead of one?  I thought I was goin’ to have a little peace and comfort; I thought that same as you, Mr. Ellery.  I’ve had my suspicions as to her and him for some time.  That day when I cal’lated I’d locked her up and come back to find she’d gone buggy ridin’, I thought ’twas queer.  When she went to conference and left me alone I smelt a rat.  When she took to letter writin’ the smell got stronger; until the last few weeks I’ve been sartin of the game she was up to.  And I never complained, no sir!  Some brothers would have ripped up the eternal foundations afore they’d have let their sister break up their home and desert ’em for a stiff-necked, bald-headed old shoe peddler like—­”

“Hush! hush!  Mr. Pepper.  You forget—­”