The Answering of Abiel Kingsbury's Prayers

ABIEL KINGSBURY, leaning against the stone wall that bounded his sheep pasture, groaned aloud.

Along the narrow pathway which zigzagged across the lots separating the Graves and Kingsbury farms a woman was stepping briskly. She was a small woman, but even her gait indicated aggressiveness. As she walked, her gray homespun skirt switched the grass on either side smartly. Belated crickets fled before her approach, and dry leaves swirled behind her.

Abiel surveyed her with disconsolate eyes.

‘She’s jest like a king-bird and I’m jest like a crow,’ he muttered. ‘I dono why I feel so scart of a leetle thing like her. She’s considerable younger ’n I be, too, but I’d ruther face old Moll Pitcher and her cannon any time. I don’t see how she knowed I was down here. She’s like an Injun for findin’ a trail. I b’lieve, ef I was to make a v’yage to Cuby, she’d git a faster vessel and overtake me in the horse latitudes where I could n’t git away.’

From the depths of her lilac sunbonnet, Almira Graves gazed sharply at Abiel’s dejected figure. She swept up to the wall, her right hand extended. In it she held a blue dish covered with a white towel.

‘We fried doughnuts to our house this mornin’, ’Biel, so I brought ye some,’ she said. The tones of her voice were startlingly deep as contrasted with her rather diminutive figure. ‘Some on ’em’s rings and some is twists,’ she continued, lifting the towel, ‘and there’s a couple of pigs for the twins. I made ’em myself. Ain’t they cute lookin’?”

Abiel made no movement to take the dish.

‘You’re real kind, Almiry,’ he said, ‘but I don’t give Kellup and Jacup many doughnuts. Sech greasy victuals ain’t good for leetle young ones. It gives ’em dyspepsy.’

‘Fiddle-dee-dee!’ said Almira, her voice booming out dominantly. ‘You was brought up on doughnuts, and fried salt pork and sassige meat, too, and you hain’t never had a sick day in your life. Here, take ’em, quick. I must be goin’ now, for I’ve got the dishes to do, but I’ll come over for a spell, arfter supper, and darn them stockin’s you washed yistiddy.’

‘Charlotte Briggs darns all —’ Abiel began; but Almira, ignoring his words, thrust the dish into his reluctant hands.

‘You give Kellup and Jacup them pigs jest as soon as you git home,’ she commanded. She whirled about and began rapidly retracing her steps along the winding path, a bewildered toad dashing before her in a frantic effort to escape being crushed.

Abiel stood, dish in hand, blinking at the doughnuts, crisp, brown, and spicily fragrant. Suddenly he straightened his drooping shoulders.

‘They shan’t eat ’em!’ he cried, hoarsely. ‘Not a one! They shan’t even taste of ’em. I’d jest as lives give ’em toadstools. I’m a-goin’ to throw the hull mess on ’em to the hens, and I’ll tell her I done it.'

He took down the bars and stepped out of the lot. Then he hurried up the road to his barnyard. A large flock of hens, quietly feeding there, stretched their necks and cackled loudly at sight of the dish.

‘Here, biddy, biddy, biddy!’ Abiel cried.

The hens came running with wings outspread. He crumbled the doughnuts and scattered the fragments on the ground. A slow smile of satisfaction lighted his face as the fowls scrambled for the feast, pushing and pecking in their greedy haste.

As he shook the last crumbs from the dish the rattle of wheels sounded in the distance, and presently a cart came jogging around a bend in the road. It was a small cart, painted blue, and filed to overflowing with a motley collection of articles. A little wizened old man was perched on the high seat. He drew rein when he saw Abiel.

‘All kinds of goods specially fitted for bridegrooms’ wear,’ he cried. ‘Neckcloths, han’kerchers, shoe-buckles, ruffles, and five different patterns of figgered velvets and satins for weskits.’

His voice was thin and piping, and his deep-set gray eyes twinkled keenly. ‘ Ain’t ben married sence I was ’round larst time, hev ye?’ he demanded.

Abiel shook his head vigorously.

‘No, I ain’t married nobuddy, Hez’kiah, and I ain’t lottin’ on marryin’ nobuddy,’ he replied. ‘Gittin’ married is the furtherest thing from my mind.’

The old man cackled shrilly.

‘Lordy, ’Biel, I did n’t think you’d gone and married anybuddy,’ he responded. ‘I thought, mebbe, somebuddy’d come and married you, though.’ He cackled again. ‘Better not crow tell ye’re out of the woods. Almiry Graves is an almighty smart woman; though, seems to me, that most any female not half as faculized as she is could contrive to ketch a widower with five small children and all on ’em boys. I don’t b’lieve she’s a-goin’ to ask you whether you want her or not. When she gits ready she’ll jest take ye.’

Abiel’s sunburned cheeks reddened.

‘I know you’re a skiptic, Hez’kiah,’ he said, ‘but I’ve alwuz ben a b’liever. I’m a-prayin’ stiddy to the Lord to git shet of Almiry, and I’ve trust in his power to save them that supplicates Him with faith. I don’t need no wife. When Mirandy was failin’, I learnt to wash and iron and cook real good. Charlotte Briggs tends to the sewin’ and knittin’. Ef twarn’t for Almiry Graves a-comin’ here so much, and a shoemaker not a-comin’ here at all, I should n’t have no troubles, whatever.’

Hezekiah raised his eyebrows.

‘Jehosaphat!’ he exclaimed. ‘Ain’t Bill Hatch ben round this way yet? Why, larst time I was here your fambly’s shoes looked like the town poor.’

‘Bill Hatch is awful sick with asthmy,’ Abiel rejoined. ‘Pelick Baxter went to Dighton the other day and see him. Said he sounded as ef he’d got the heaves. Mis’ Hatch told him that, onless boots and shoes fell from the sky in this deestrict, Swansea folks’d have to look for another shoemaker. I dono what I’m a-goin’ to do. I’d ruther see a shoemaker than Pres’dent Madison himself. I thought, mebbe, you ’d come acrost one somewheres in your travels.’

’I was peddlin’ round North Rehoboth larst week, and I did hear of a feller that hed ben workin’ up that way,’ Hezekiah answered, ‘but he went over towards Freetown. Ef I’d known Bill Hatch was ailin’, I could ’a sent him down here jest as well as not. I don’t know of nary other one. Somehow shoemakers seems dretful scurce this season.’

‘The ones that useter come ’round have ben a-dyin’ off for the last three years,’ returned Abiel. ‘I dono what I’m a-goin’ to do,’ he repeated, forlornly. ‘I s’pose old Injun Marg’ret, that lives in the cave down to Birch Swamp, would make me some moccasins, but them ain’t like shoes.’

The peddler screwed up his eyes reflectively.

‘ Bein’ as you have so much faith in prayer, why don’t you pray for a shoemaker?’ he queried. ‘My own belief is that the Almighty’s too busy with wind and rain, and thunder and lightnin’, and earthquakes, and sech things, to bother with widowers that don’t want to git married, or young ones that ain’t got no shoes. But you might experiment with a prayer or two.’

Abiel’s disconsolate face lighted.

‘Why, yes, I’ll pray,’ he cried eagerly; ‘I’d oughter have done it. long ago, but I never thought of it. I’m so pestered with Almiry that I forgit even my religious duties.’

‘Hope you’ll git answered prompt,’ Hezekiah responded. He gathered up the reins. ‘Wal, ef I can’t sell ye any weddin’ finery, I must be movin’ on. Mebbe, when I come ’round agin, you ’ll be ready for a weskit spite of all your supplicatin’. Git dap, Beelzebub!’

He slapped the reins on his horse’s back and the animal, lazily lifting his feet, started down the road at a slow trot. Abiel, after watching the cart disappear, stood for several moments in deep thought.

‘I’ll have to git Solomon to holp me out,’ he murmured, at last. ‘He ain’t afraid of nothin’. He’s got the Dikens sperit. I did n’t inherit none of it. I wisht I had. I’d like to see Almiry tackle Uncle J’siah Dikens. I ruther guess she’d find she’d met her match.’

That evening, just as darkness settled down upon the earth, Abiel slipped out of his back door and stealthily sought the highway. It was half-past nine ere he returned and softly tapped on the kitchen window.

The door was opened by his oldest son, a boy of twelve.

‘Is she gone, Solomon?’ Abiel whispered cautiously.

‘Ben gone more’n two hours,’ Solomon responded. ‘Did n’t take me long to shoo her home.’

His father entered the kitchen and seated himself on the wooden settle by the fireplace.

‘Did you tell her that I fed them doughnuts, pigs and all, to the hens?’ he inquired, eagerly.

‘Course I did. Did you think I would n’t?’

‘Was she put out?’

‘Put out!’ Solomon grinned broadly. ‘I guess she was. She was hornet mad. I thought she was goin’ to box my ears.’

‘Did she ask for the stockin’s?’

‘I did n’t give her no chance. I up and told her that you’d taken ’em over to Charlotte’s, before she could git in a word about ’em.’

‘And what did she say?’

Solomon’s shrewd little face grew suddenly grave. He looked keenly at his father.

‘She asked me how I’d like Charlotte Briggs for a stepmother,’ he responded slowly.

Abiel sat up on the settle, staring at his son with amazed eyes.

‘Charlotte Briggs for a stepmother!’ he repeated. ‘Why she’s ’leven years older than I be. ’Leven years and two weeks and three days. She told me her age to-night. What on airth did you answer?’

‘ I told her I liked Charlotte a good deal better than some other folks I knew, and ef I’d got to have a stepmother, I ruther have her than anybuddy. I told her Charlotte made the best doughnuts I ever tasted. I told her I did n’t know as Charlotte would have ye, for she warn’t no hand to come trapin’ round arfter a husband like some women. She got up, then, and started for home, and she was so mad that she put on that laylock bunnit hind-side before and never knowed it.’

Abiel surveyed his first-born with an expression of wonder, akin to awe.

’You better go to bed, now,’ he said after a moment.

Solomon lighted a candle that stood in a battered candlestick on the dresser. He shuffled across the floor, the soles of his ragged shoes flapping noisily. At the door of the garret stairs he paused, his hand on the latch.

‘Pa, kin I hev the black lamb all for myself?’ he queried. ‘I done my best to holp ye to-night.’

‘Lordy!’ Abiel hastily stifled the ejaculation. ‘Yes,’ he said weakly, ‘you kin hev it, I guess.’

He gazed at the door after it closed behind Solomon.

’He’s Dikens clear away through,’ he muttered. ‘They’re all dretful forehanded. I dono as I done right puttin’ of him up to sech tricks, but I was beset. Mebbe, ef I’d stayed to home, she’d ’a’ nabbed me off ’n my guard. Hez’kiah Talbee says she’s smart and there ain’t no disputin’ him. I’ve got to be instant in prayer, in season and out of season, ef I expect to git ahead of her.'

He slid gently to his knees on the sanded floor.

‘Oh, Lord,’ he murmured softly, ‘I thank Thee for my deliverance this night. Continue to protect me from female’s snares. And there is one more thing, Lord, that I need beside strength to resist and overcome sech. I need a shoemaker, Lord, for the children’s foot-gear is nigh wore out. Do Thou, in thy goodness, send me a shoemaker as soon as conveniently may be. Amen.’

All the next day Abiel, from the wood lot where he was cutting hickory, scanned the unfrequented road eagerly. But no shoemaker, with kit and leather apron, appeared. Almira Graves did not appear, either, but, at noon-time, she sent an offering of pancakes by the hands of her young niece, ‘Loizy.’ Solomon, who received these eatables, promptly deposited them in the pigs’ trough, returning the pewter plate which had contained them to the astonished Loizy with the remark that he ‘never did see anything to beat Pa’s hogs for rye and Injun victuals. They ruther have ’em than anything else, mornin,’ noon, and night.’

Loizy surveyed him with round wondering eyes.

‘Do you give ’em to ’em often?’ she queried.

‘Not so very often,’ Solomon returned. ‘Pa don’t find time to make ’em. But you kin tell your aunt that they kin put down all she has a mind to stand up and fry.’

’I did n’t pray fervent enough,’ Abiel mused, as he smoked his evening pipe beside the kitchen fire, ‘leastways about the shoemaker. The Lord answered me as fur as Almiry is concerned.

I wisht that I’d set Solomon on her tracks long ago. But regardin’ my fambly’s shoes I did n’t set forth my condition as fully as I should.’

After the children had retired he prayed long and earnestly.

‘Send me a shoemaker, Lord,’ he pleaded. ‘I am in sore distress. October is a-goin’ fast and winter is ahastenin’ on. There ain’t a hull pair of shoes in the house but mine, and William Hatch is kep’ to home by the asthmy. Send me a shoemaker termorrer, if possible, or day after termorrer at the furtherest.’

But when the morrow drew to a close, Abiel Kingsbury found his petition unanswered. So perturbed was he that he took little heed of the fact that Almira Graves failed to pay him her accustomed daily visit. He ate his supper in brooding silence.

At half-past seven a rap at the kitchen door set his heart beating hopefully. He lifted the latch with eager hands. Charlotte Briggs stood on the broad stone doorsteps, a covered basket hanging on her arm.

‘Land sakes, ’Biel,’ she exclaimed, ‘you look as ef I was a ghost,’

Abiel smiled feebly.

‘I — I — I was kinder expectin’ to see Almiry,’ he faltered. ‘She — she is apt to — er — drop in evenin’s.’

Charlotte Briggs sniffed.

‘I sh’d think she’d want to ef you ’pear as tickled as that to see her,’ she responded. ‘Here’s your mendin’ and them new stockin’s you wanted knit for the boys.’

‘I’ll walk home with ye, Charlotte,’ Abiel said. ‘It’s kind of pokey by them pine woods.’

‘Thanks,’ returned Miss Briggs, crisply, ‘you need n’t bother. But Solomon can go a piece down the road if he feels like it.’

‘Yes, marm,’ cried Solomon with alacrity, springing up from the floor where he had been playing Indians with Jacob and Caleb, the twins; ‘I’d jest as lives go as not.’

When he returned to the house he found that his father had put the other children to bed.

‘I guess you went way home with her,’ Abiel remarked. ‘You’ve been gone nigh an hour.’

Solomon nodded acquiescingly.

‘Say, Pa,’ he said confidentially, ‘I guess I know what made Charlotte so kinder uppish with ye. Almiry’s ben sayin’ that she’s tryin’ to ketch ye.’

Abiel gasped.

‘Did she tell ye that?’ he quavered.

‘Course not, but when I come back along, Mis’ Deacon Morton was layin’ wait for me at her gate. She seen us pass by in the moonlight . And she says, “ Is yer Pa sick? ” And I says, “ No.”And she says, “Oh, I suppose he’s entertainin’ his other flame! Which on ’em is a-goin’ to ketch him, Almiry or Charlotte? I hear it’s a race between ’em.” And I says, “ Is that so ?” and run right past her. She hollered after me, “He’d better take Charlotte,” but I did n’t make no answer and kep’ right on. I see that laylock bunnit goin’ down the road before nine this mornin,’ and it never come back till jest before twelve. I’ll bet Almiry went all round jawin’ about Charlotte.’

Abiel shook his head.

‘Folks ’round here had oughter know Charlotte better,’ he said impatiently. ‘When she was young she had lots of fellers standin’ ’round ready to spark her, and she give the whole mess of ’em the mitten. ’Tain’t likely she wants to get married at her age, specially to a man so much younger than she is. Almiry talks like a fool and them that listens to her acts like bigger fools. I wisht that I was as sure that a shoemaker will come here to-morrer as I be that Charlotte Briggs don’t want to marry me.’

Solomon made no reply. He lighted his candle and silently crept upstairs to bed. Abiel resumed his pipe with a harassed expression of countenance.

‘Almiry was bad enough before,’ he mused, ‘but if she is jealous I dono what I be a-goin’ to do. Charlotte is kinder touchy, and like as not she’ll r’ar up and say she can’t take care of the children’s clothes any longer. I don’t blame Charlotte none. Tain’t none too agreeable to be pestered about somebody you hain’t never thought of settin’ your cap for. I dono what ever possessed ’Liphalet Burden to up and die jest a week before the day sot for his and Almiry’s weddin’. Ef he’d ’a’ lived I should ’a’ ben onmolested. It was an awful dark providence, his death was. But dark providences seems to shadder my path. Where be all the shoemakers? I’ve prayed fer one so hard that seems to me only Satan himself can be keepin’ him away.’

He laid down his pipe and knelt before the settle, and, in impassioned accents, poured fort h his troubles.

‘Oh, Lord,’ he cried, ‘silence the gossip which is bein’ sowed broadcast in this deestrict like grains of wheat in a ploughed field. Open the eyes of the neighbors that they may see that Charlotte Briggs ain’t a-settin’ her cap for me. Ef possible, perform a merricle and put some sense into Almiry Graves’s head. Lead her to onderstand that I ain’t no thought of marryin’ her, and never shall hev.

‘And, Lord, Thou knowest that I need a shoemaker; send me one. We are all of us e’enamost to the end of our tethers. The soles of Solomon’s shoes flops when he walks, and Jacup and Kellup is both through at the toes. Gustavus has lost the heel off’n his left boot, and John Henry is bursted through both sides of his feet.’ His voice rose to a piteous wail. ‘Turn backwards the steps of that man Hez’kiah Talbee told of. Guide him from Freetown acrost Somerset to Swansea. I think there will be a frost to-night and all signs p’int to an airly winter. Send me a shoemaker, Lord, before the children git chilblains. They had a delikit mother and none on ’em is rugged.’

Abiel rose from his knees comforted. He had faith to believe that his earnest petition would be answered speedily. He slept peacefully, and arose at dawn in a calm and hopeful mood.

Directly after breakfast Caleb and Jacob were stationed at the kitchen window to watch for the expected shoemaker. Until dinner time they vainly craned their necks and strained their eyes. After dinner Gustavus relieved them. But his vigilance, also, remained unrewarded.

Late in the afternoon Beelzebub came jogging up to the barnyard gate.

‘Shoemaker come yit?’ Hezekiah Talbee demanded, bending from his perch to peer into the barn where Abiel was milking the cows.

Abiel flushed. ‘No,’ he answered.

‘Did ye pray fer one?’

‘Yes.’

The peddler wagged his head.

‘Ye better pray to the Devil, next time,’ he said. ‘My experience is that them thet asks him fer assistance gin’rally gits it.’

Abiel nodded gloomily.

‘Jest heerd some news about ye to the blacksmith’s shop,’ Mr. Talbee continued. ‘Heerd ye hev two gals on yer string, one on ’em pooty nigh old enough to be yer ma, and tother one pooty nigh young enough ter be yer darter. When I was there tother day, everybuddy was shore thet Almiry Graves would fetch ye. Now they’re a-sayin’ thet Charlotte Briggs has ketched ye away. Better look at my weskit patterns and neckerchers.’

‘It’s all a mess of gossip,’ cried Abiel angrily, ‘Charlotte Briggs don’t want me, and I don’t want nobuddy.’

‘Yer dretful hard to please, seems to me,’ responded the peddler. ‘Most men don’t git a chance to make a choose. They hev to take what they kin git. But there is, and alwuz will be, some folks so graspin’ thet, if they hed the airth, they’d want Nantucket Island throwed in fer a calf pasture. Git dap there, Beelzebub. We shan’t sell Mr. Kingsbury no gee-gaws to-day. You try the Devil, ’Biel. He never fails them that really wants him to help ’em.’

Abiel scarcely tasted the evening meal. Solomon regarded him curiously. There was a look in his father’s eyes that the boy had never seen there before. It was the look of smouldering fire.

After the dishes were washed Abiel sat on the settle, his unlighted pipe lying beside him. As he stared into vacancy his face became rigid, and the strange glow in his eyes grew lurid. An unwonted hush fell upon the kitchen. The children, vaguely oppressed, whispered in the corner.

Solomon took them to the garret a quarter of an hour earlier than usual. He felt sure that his father desired to be alone.

When silence had settled down, Abiel stood up on the braided hearth-rug. His face was pallid, except where two red spots burned on his high cheek bones. The smouldering fire of his eyes burst into flames.

‘I’m a-goin’ to do it!’ he whispered in hoarse, unnatural tones. ‘I’m drove to it. I’ve stood it until I can’t stan’ it no longer. The Lord has forsook me!’

He clenched his knotted hands together.

‘Oh, Devil,’ he said, slowly and clearly, ‘ef you have power to do so, send me a shoemaker within twentyfour hours.’

The morning sun rose with a burst of glory to usher in one of late October’s perfect days. White clouds, like feathers, dotted the bending, deep blue sky. The boughs of sumach and maple seemed hung with rubies and topazes. Squirrels frisked on the orchard walls, and late birds twittered on swaying branches. The warm breeze scarcely rustled the brown leaves of the shocked corn.

Abiel, silent, rigid, fiery-eyed, was mending a broken harness in the barn when a shadow fell across the floor. He looked up. A stranger stood in the doorway. He was a tall, rather goodlooking young man, clad in garments somewhat faded and frayed, but which yet retained a vestige of former jauntiness. A fur cap sat lightly on a mass of clustering black curls. Under one arm he carried a bundle rolled in a great piece of leather.

‘Morning, sir,’ he said in a crisp, clear voice. ‘D’ye happen to want any shoemaking done?’

Abiel stared at him silently.

‘Want any shoemaking done?’ the stranger repeated.

Abiel, as if frozen to the floor, remained speechless.

‘Deef as a flat-headed adder,’ the young man muttered. He elevated his voice. ‘How’s your family off for shoes, sir? I’m looking for a job.’

Abiel took a step backward. His face assumed a blue-white hue like that of a corpse.

‘Must be deef and dumb,’ the stranger exclaimed. ‘I’ll have to talk by motions.’

He pointed to Abiel’s shoes, then to the bundle he carried.

With a supreme effort Abiel moistened his parched lips.

‘No,’ he said huskily, ‘I don’t need no shoemaker. My folks is all fitted out fer the winter.’

The young man nodded and wheeled about.

‘Your manners need mending if your shoes don’t,’ he called back as he swung jauntily across the barnyard.

Abiel, trembling as if with an ague, staggered against a grain chest, clutching at the wall for support.

‘I had to lie,’ he cried hoarsely. ‘I did n’t darst do anything else.’ Great beads of sweat burst out on his forehead. ‘ I never believed the Devil could send him. I only prayed to him because I was in a passion fit. I am a sinful man, but I did n’t think I would be took at my word like this.’

After a while he steadied himself and, with shaking hands, led General Putnam, his aged white horse, from the stall and saddled him.

Presently he mounted the animal and rode up to the house. John Henry, the youngest child, was feeding a pet rooster at the door. The other boys had gone with Solomon to look after the sheep.

‘I’m goin’ an arrant down Warren way,’ said Abiel. ‘You tell ’em to dish up dinner and not wait ef I ain’t back by noon.’

It was past one o’clock when General Putnam reëntered the barnyard.

‘Pa, pa,’ Gustavus shrilled from the open kitchen window, ‘ thar’s a shoemaker come! He’s workin’ over to Graveses. Don’t you want me to go and borry him?’

Abiel dismounted.

‘See here,’ he said, ‘here’s a lot of good warm moccasins. I ben down to Birch Swamp and bought ’em off’n that old Injun squaw that lives in a cave thar. We won’t need a shoemaker till these is wore out.’

To Solomon the three weeks that followed seemed like a terrible nightmare. Not once did his father’s face lose its rigid and ghastly expression. He moved about like an automaton, eating little, retiring to rest late, and rising early. He grew suddenly shrunken and oldlooking.

Solomon poured out his fright and grief on Charlotte Briggs’s sympathetic shoulder.

‘I can’t git used to them moccasins,’ he wailed. ‘I ain’t got no Injun blood in me. And I’m scairt that Pa will drownd himself or starve to death. I wisht you’d set your cap at him. He ain’t but leven years younger than you be. ’Leven years ain’t nothin’. There’s a man up Ta’nton way got a wife nineteen years older’n he is.’

Charlotte pushed the boy from her lap.

‘My cap’s plain black lace,’ she said. *’Tain’t the right color to set for a man. Mebbe, ef it was laylock, I might do suthin’ with it. But I ain’t got no laylock cap. Not even a laylock sunbunnit.’

It was a blustering day in late November. The gray sky frowned at the brown earth, and the trees shook their bare branches disconsolately in the chill blast. Despondent crows cawed plaintively over the denuded cornfields, and cattle shivered in the sere pastures.

Abiel, worn and haggard, was rubbing down General Putnam, just returned from the grist-mill at Swansea, whither Solomon had that morning ridden him. He lifted his bowed head as Hezekiah’s shrill voice penetrated the barn’s dusky interior.

The peddler, who had alighted from his cart and stood in the doorway, started back at sight of Abiel’s face.

‘Heavens to Betsey, ’Biel! What on airth is the matter with ye?’ he exclaimed. ‘Be ye ailin’?’

‘Ailin’ in sperrit, not in body,’ Abiel replied. ‘Graveses’ folks says I’ve took to drinkin’ cider, but it ain’t so. I’ll tell ye what ails me, Hez’kiah. I done what ye advised me to. I prayed to the Devil for a shoemaker, and he sent me one. I knowed, when ye told me to do it, ’t was only yer skiptic talk, but I done it. I was mad because the Lord did n’t pay no heed to my supplications, and I was most wild fearin’ Almiry would kitch me in spite of myself. I did n’t believe the Devil would pick me up. I just done it to let off my spite. But I callated wrong. The very nex’ day the Devil sent a shoemaker here to this very barn.’

‘Lurdy!’ ejaculated Mr. Talbee. ‘What’d ye do?’

‘I sent him away. I thought I sh’d drop dead when I seen him.’

‘What’d he do?’

‘Went over to Graveses and they hired him. He’s thar yit.’

The peddler’s tense features relaxed. A sudden gleam came into his keen eyes.

‘ He ain’t thar, ’Biel,’ he said slowly. ‘Him and Almiry run away to Middleborough and got married yistiddy arfternoon. I come over here a-purpose to congratulate ye. Almiry sent word hum to her folks this mornin’ . Ole Mis’ Graves is nigh crazy.’

‘Married! Almiry married to the Devil’s shoemaker!’ Abiel gasped.

‘Sho, ’Biel! He ain’t none of Satan’s crew maskyradin’ as a man,’ answered Hezekiah. ‘I know all ’bout him. He’s son to Deacon Perry over to New Bedford, and a wuthless cuss. Almiry’s brought her pigs to a darned pore markit. And I don’t believe the Devil sent him into this v’cin’ty, nuther. I ruther guess’t was the Lord’s doin’s,arfte rall.’

Over Abiel’s face swept a sudden transformation, radiant, blissful.

‘Almiry married!’ he murmured. ‘I ben blind, Hez’kiah. I’d ought to have suspicioned suthin’ when she stopped luggin’ victuals over here. And I feel that you’re right about the Lord. He got belated answerin’ of me, but’t was Him, and not the Devil, that fetched that Perry feller to Swansea.’

‘Looks to me as ef yer prayin’ to the Devil was a kind of providunce, too,’ said the peddler with a dry cackle. ‘Fer, ef ye had n’t ben afraid of that shoemaker, ye’d of hired him and then, mebbe, he’d never ’a’gone to Graveses. Now I s’pose you and Charlotte’ll git spliced. Hey?’

Abiel blushed deeply.

‘Hev ye got a skillet in yer cart? ’ he queried. ‘I liked to hev fergot that ourn is all wore out.’

Mr. Talbee clambered into the cart and out again with surprising agility.

‘Here’s the skillet,’ he said. ‘Anything else? No? Wal, I’ll be round agin in two weeks and we’ll confabulate about the weddin’ weskit.’

‘No, ’Biel, I ain’t a-goin’ to marry ye,’ Charlotte Briggs said firmly that evening, as she anti Abiel sat on either side of the cheery fireplace in her neat kitchen. ‘You don’t keer fer me as a husband should. I’m too old fer ye. Yer jest askin’ me because Solomon wants ye to hev me. I pity them children, but I ain’t willin’ to marry no man jest to be a stepmother.’

Abiel gazed at her with bewildered eyes.

‘Why, Charlotte,’ he remonstrated, ‘what makes you talk so? Solomon ain’t never asked me to spark you.’

Charlotte faced her wooer, arms akimbo.

‘How on airth come you ter think of marryin’ me, then?’ she demanded.

‘Wal,’ said Abiel, softly, ‘’t was Almiry’s talk thet fust put the idee into my head, and the more I considered it the more I liked it. I wisht you could be persuaded, Charlotte.’

At the wedding, which took place some three months later, Solomon and Mr. Talbee were the leading spirits. The entire Kingsbury flock were happily conscious that they were shod in brand-new, well-fitting shoes made by a shoemaker from Seekonk pressed into service for the occasion by the peddler. The bride, in a gown of pale blue chintz, looked ten years younger than her actual age, and Abiel was radiant in a vest of flaming crimson velvet brocade.

‘ ’Tain’t the weskit I wanted him to s’lect,’ Mr. Talbee confided to Solomon. ‘The one I talked up to him was strip-ed, a kind of pale yaller and stuncolor. But he was sot on hevin’ suthin’ toomultoous to express his feelin’s. He’s got what he wanted, sartin sure.’ And to himself he added, ‘Red is the Devil’s own color, but I’ll bet my horse and cart against nothin’ that ’Biel ain’t never oncet thought on’t.’