In the Way by Grace Livingston Hill Page B

he could tell nothing, except that there had been a green glow and a look like a glimpse of paradise to it. An eager desire to sec it at once took possession of him and he hastened his steps. His errand at the drug store completed, he went to the post office to see if there was any mail. He and David had not been used to getting letters nor going often to the office, but since their sister had arrived there had been something for the Benedicts almost every mail. They were growing accustomed to going to the post office every day as a matter of course.
                  The grocery, in the front of which the post office was located, was ill lighted by smoky kerosene lamps. At the back end, beyond the counter and a little hidden by the dusty post boxes and the little stamp and letter window, there was a sprawling box stove and around it at all seasons of the year, no matter whether there was a fire or not, was usually gathered at this hour of the evening a number of loafers, young and old, spitting, smoking, and talking, with loud guffaws of laughter interspersed. They were all there tonight. Joseph recognized one or two voices and he drew his brows in a heavy frown. Ruth had told him of the men who had called to her as she rode and frightened her so terribly. He knew at once who they were and that two of them were at that moment at the back of the store.
                  They were talking loudly and laughing as usual. One of these two seemed to be telling a story of something he had seen that day. Joseph, as he waited for the tardy postmaster, who was interested in the story and came unwillingly with his head turned to hear the rest, could not help but catch some of the sentences. There was something being said about a bicycle and a girl—and—could he believe his senses? He straightened up like a spirited horse that has been angered. Amid the loud laughter that followed the close of the story, there came like a sudden thunderclap a swift, stinging, stunning blow across the grinning mouth of the teller, which caused him to suddenly fall backward into one of the store chairs and made his head ring and his eyes sec many constellations. There was startled, utter silence in the room. Joseph, in part by his strange moods, his alternate deep silence and witty, sometimes cutting, sarcasms, and in part by his unusual physical strength, had gained a supremacy over the rest which made them almost afraid now as he stood tall and strong and straight before them, with folded arms and lowering brows looking down at the dazed man before him, waiting until he should come to his senses sufficiently to hear what he had to say. Joseph was conspicuously without his pipe that night. The fact gave him an added dignity.
                  The young man in the chair was Bill Brower. His brother Ed stood on the other side of the stove. They were two of those who had made remarks to Ruth as she rode by their place that morning. The Browers were rich farmers, and took a good many airs on themselves, though it was whispered about that the father was very “near.” The three young men, sons, were rapidly going to the bad. Their mother, poor soul, had never had much control over them, and their father did not care so long as they worked and did not spend too much of his money. Fie was not over-good himself.
                  Joseph had never liked these two young men. His sarcasms had oftenest been directed against them, and well he knew they dreaded his tongue; for they were dull in a way, and not able to make quick reply or get the better of him before others. They hated ridicule as only coarse, weak natures can. Now Joseph stood above Bill Brower and looked down in scorn as the other tried to recover from his blow and show some fight. Joseph placed a firm hand on his shoulder, with menace in his face, and said:
                  “No, Bill; don't you dare to stir or answer me back. I have just one