on the quilt. Then he rummaged through a cedar chest, smelling of years, and found a shining squirrel-skin cap and pulled it on. It was good and warm; the journey might prove very cold.
While he did this Curly Head methodically picked his teeth with a hen quill he had borrowed from a jar and watched the old man’s proceedings with a puzzled frown. Yellow Hair was whistling again; the tune he whistled was completely flat.
After Preacher had been about his business for a great while, CurlyHead cleared his throat and said, “Hope you haven’t forgot that drink of water, Gran’pa. Surely would appreciate it.”
Preacher hobbled to the well bucket hid among the stove’s litter. “Seems lak I can’t remembuh nothin’, Mistuh Jesus. Seems lak I leaves my haid outside when I come in.” He had two gourds and filled them to the brim. When Curly Head finished, he wiped his mouth and said, “Fine and dandy,” and began to rock, letting his boots drag the hearth with a sleepy rhythm.
Preacher’s hands trembled as he tied his quilt, and it required five tries. Then he perched himself on an upended log between the two men, his small legs barely scraping the floor. The torn lips of the golden girl holding the bottle of NE-HI smiled down and the firelight flared an appealing mural on the walls. Through the open windows could be heard crocheting insects in the weeds and sundry night cadences, familiar in all Preacher’s lifetime. Oh, how beautiful his cabin seemed, how wonderful what he had grown to despise. He had been so wrong! What a doggone fool! He could never leave, now or ever. But there, before him, were four feet wearing four boots and the door well behind them.
“Mistuh Jesus,” he said, careful of his tone, “I’se been turnin’ de whole mattah ovah an’ I’se come to conclude I don’t wants to go wid y’ all.”
Curly Head and Yellow Hair exchanged strange glances and Yellow Hair, rising from the bed, hunched himself above Preacher and said, “What’s the matter, Gran’pa? You got a fever?”
Mortally ashamed, Preacher said, “Please, suh, beggin’ pardon … I don’t wants to go nowhere.”
“Look here, Gran’pa, talk sense,” said Curly Head kindly. “If you’re sick we’ll be glad to get a doctor from town.”
“Ain’t no use,” said Preacher. “If de time’s up, de time’s up.… But I’d be tickled iffen y’all ’ud leave me be.”
“All we want to do is help,” said Yellow Hair.
“Sure is,” said Curly Head and squirted a fat spit into the fire.“You’re being purentee cussed, that’s what I say. It’s not everybody we’d take so much pains to do them a favor, not by a long shot.”
“Thank ya all de same, Mistuh Jesus. I knows I done put y’all to a lota extry trouble.”
“Come on now, Gran’pa,” said Yellow Hair, his voice dropping several notches, “what’s wrong? You in trouble with some gal.”
Curly Head said, “Now don’t joke with Gran’pa. He’s just been sitting in the sun too long, that’s all. Else I never saw a case like it.”
“Me either,” said Yellow Hair. “But you never can tell about these old coons; liable to go off the deep end before you can bat your eyes.”
Preacher sank lower and lower till he was almost curved double and his chin had begun twitching.
“First he runs off like he’d seen the devil himself,” said Yellow Hair, “and now he acts like I don’t know what.”
“Dat ain’t so,” cried Preacher, his eyes alarmingly wide. “I recognize y’all from de Good Book. An’ I’se a
good
man. I’se as good a man as evah lived … ain’t nevah done wrong to nobody.…”
“Ahhh,” hummed Yellow Hair, “I give up! Gran’pa … you ain’t worth trifling with.”
“That’s a fact,” said Curly Head.
Preacher bowed his head and brushed a squirrel tail away from his cheek. “I knows,” he said. “Yassuh, I does. I’se been a pow’ful big fool and dats de Gospel. But if you leaves me stay
While he did this Curly Head methodically picked his teeth with a hen quill he had borrowed from a jar and watched the old man’s proceedings with a puzzled frown. Yellow Hair was whistling again; the tune he whistled was completely flat.
After Preacher had been about his business for a great while, CurlyHead cleared his throat and said, “Hope you haven’t forgot that drink of water, Gran’pa. Surely would appreciate it.”
Preacher hobbled to the well bucket hid among the stove’s litter. “Seems lak I can’t remembuh nothin’, Mistuh Jesus. Seems lak I leaves my haid outside when I come in.” He had two gourds and filled them to the brim. When Curly Head finished, he wiped his mouth and said, “Fine and dandy,” and began to rock, letting his boots drag the hearth with a sleepy rhythm.
Preacher’s hands trembled as he tied his quilt, and it required five tries. Then he perched himself on an upended log between the two men, his small legs barely scraping the floor. The torn lips of the golden girl holding the bottle of NE-HI smiled down and the firelight flared an appealing mural on the walls. Through the open windows could be heard crocheting insects in the weeds and sundry night cadences, familiar in all Preacher’s lifetime. Oh, how beautiful his cabin seemed, how wonderful what he had grown to despise. He had been so wrong! What a doggone fool! He could never leave, now or ever. But there, before him, were four feet wearing four boots and the door well behind them.
“Mistuh Jesus,” he said, careful of his tone, “I’se been turnin’ de whole mattah ovah an’ I’se come to conclude I don’t wants to go wid y’ all.”
Curly Head and Yellow Hair exchanged strange glances and Yellow Hair, rising from the bed, hunched himself above Preacher and said, “What’s the matter, Gran’pa? You got a fever?”
Mortally ashamed, Preacher said, “Please, suh, beggin’ pardon … I don’t wants to go nowhere.”
“Look here, Gran’pa, talk sense,” said Curly Head kindly. “If you’re sick we’ll be glad to get a doctor from town.”
“Ain’t no use,” said Preacher. “If de time’s up, de time’s up.… But I’d be tickled iffen y’all ’ud leave me be.”
“All we want to do is help,” said Yellow Hair.
“Sure is,” said Curly Head and squirted a fat spit into the fire.“You’re being purentee cussed, that’s what I say. It’s not everybody we’d take so much pains to do them a favor, not by a long shot.”
“Thank ya all de same, Mistuh Jesus. I knows I done put y’all to a lota extry trouble.”
“Come on now, Gran’pa,” said Yellow Hair, his voice dropping several notches, “what’s wrong? You in trouble with some gal.”
Curly Head said, “Now don’t joke with Gran’pa. He’s just been sitting in the sun too long, that’s all. Else I never saw a case like it.”
“Me either,” said Yellow Hair. “But you never can tell about these old coons; liable to go off the deep end before you can bat your eyes.”
Preacher sank lower and lower till he was almost curved double and his chin had begun twitching.
“First he runs off like he’d seen the devil himself,” said Yellow Hair, “and now he acts like I don’t know what.”
“Dat ain’t so,” cried Preacher, his eyes alarmingly wide. “I recognize y’all from de Good Book. An’ I’se a
good
man. I’se as good a man as evah lived … ain’t nevah done wrong to nobody.…”
“Ahhh,” hummed Yellow Hair, “I give up! Gran’pa … you ain’t worth trifling with.”
“That’s a fact,” said Curly Head.
Preacher bowed his head and brushed a squirrel tail away from his cheek. “I knows,” he said. “Yassuh, I does. I’se been a pow’ful big fool and dats de Gospel. But if you leaves me stay
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