"No, not very well. That is, I--Mr. Ellery, come back here, won't ye? I don't want anybody to hear."

The house of the nearest neighbor being several hundred yards away, the likelihood of being overheard was improbable; but the minister came back, nevertheless.

"You see, Mr. Ellery," stammered Kyan, "I--I'd like to have you come in fust rate, but--er--Laviny she's got the key."

Ellery was surprised.

"She has!" he exclaimed.

"Um--hm, she's got it. She took it with her."

"But there are other doors. She didn't take them all, did she?"

"No--o, but--Well, the fact is, Mr. Ellery, I--I--I'm locked in."

"Locked in?"

"Yes, locked in this room. She--she--Oh, consarn it all, Mr. Ellery, she's locked me in this room a-purpose, so's I won't get out and go somewheres without her knowin' it."

"What?"

"Um--h'm; that's what she's done. Did you ever hear of anything like that in your born days?"

This surprising disclosure was funny enough, but the tone of grieved indignation in which Mr. Pepper told of his imprisonment was funnier still. The minister coughed violently and looked the other way.

"She done it a-purpose," continued Kyan, in a burst of confidence. "She had me put one of them new-fangled spring locks on the door of this room t'other day, 'cause she said she was afraid of tramps and wanted some place to shut herself up in if one of em come. And--and after dinner to-day she sent me in here for somethin' and then slammed the door on me. Said she cal'lated I'd stay put till she got back from Thankful's.

She knew mighty well I couldn't get out of the window, 'cause it won't open no further'n 'tis now. I wa'n't never so provoked in my life.

'Tain't no way to treat your own brother, lockin' him up like a young one; now, is it?"

Ellery's reply was not made immediately. He had heard numerous stories concerning this odd household, some of which seemed too absurd for belief. But this performance was more ridiculous than anything he had heard.

"'Tain't right, is it, Mr. Ellery?" demanded Kyan.

"Why," answered the caller chokingly, "I--I--it is rather unusual, that's a fact. May I ask what you've done to--"

"Done? I ain't done nothin'. She's so darned scared some other woman'll get my money that--you see, a month or so ago I--I--well, she thought I done somethin', or was plannin' to do somethin' that--Keziah Coffin never told you anything about me, did she?"

"No, indeed. What could Mrs. Coffin tell me about you?"

"All right. Nothin', nothin'. Only if she did, tain't so. But I ain't goin' to stand it no more, Mr. Ellery. Bein' shut up in a darned old--excuse my swearin', I didn't mean to, though I got reason enough, land knows--bein' shut up in a room full of trunks and odds and ends is goin' too fur. I never want to smell old clothes ag'in long's I live.

Would you stand it if you was me, Mr. Ellery?"

"Why, of course I mustn't interfere in your family matters, Mr. Pepper.

Perhaps I'd better call some other time. Good afternoon."

"Hold on! hold on! you ain't answered me yet. You're a minister and I go to your meetin' house. Tell me what you'd do if you was me. Would you stand it?"

Ellery laughed aloud.

"No," he said, "I suppose I shouldn't."

"I bet you wouldn't! What would you do?"

"I don't know. You're of age, Mr. Pepper, and you must decide for yourself. I think I should declare my independence. Really, I must go.

I--"

"Don't be in such a hurry. I want advice. I need it. And, so fur's DECLARIN' goes, that don't do me no good. She can declare more things in a minute than I can think of in a week. Tongue! I never heard--No, no!

Never mind the declarin'. What would you DO? S'posin' you wanted to go outdoor without havin' her tagged to your coat tails, how'd you stop the taggin'?"

The absurdity of the affair was too much for the visitor. He roared a "Ha, ha!" that caused Abishai to wave a warning hand beneath the sash.

"Ss-h-h! sshh!" he hissed. "Folks'll hear ye, and I'd be so ashamed if they did that I wouldn't dast to show my head. Can't show much of it, anyhow, just now. By gum! I'll do somethin' desperate. I--I dunno as I won't pizen her. I--"

"Hush! hush! you mustn't talk that way. I'm afraid you must be very fascinating, Mr. Pepper. If your sister is so very fearful of your meeting other women, it must be because she has good reason to fear."

"Stop your foolishness! Oh!--I--I ask your pardon, Mr. Ellery. That ain't no way to talk to a minister. But I'm goin' to go out when I want to if I bust a hole through the clapboards. I AIN'T fascinatin'. You ask any woman--except her--if I be, and see what they say. What'll I DO?"

"Ha, ha! I don't know, I'm sure. You might lock HER up, I suppose, just for a change."

"Hey!" There was a sound from behind the pane as if the imprisoned one had slapped his knee. "By gum! I never thought of that. Would you now, Mr. Ellery? Would you? Sshh! sshh! somebody's comin'. Maybe it's her.

Run around to the door, Mr. Ellery, quick. And don't tell her I've seen you, for mercy sakes! Don't now, will ye? Please! Run!"

The minister did not run, but he walked briskly around the corner.

Sure enough, Lavinia was there, just unlocking the door. She expressed herself as very glad to see the caller, ushered him into the sitting room and disappeared, returning in another moment with her brother, whom she unblushingly said had been taking a nap. Abishai did not contradict her; instead, he merely looked apprehensively at the minister.

The call was a short one. Lavinia did seven eighths of the talking and Ellery the rest. Kyan was silent. When the visit was over, Miss Pepper escorted her guest to the door and bade him a voluble good-by. Over her shoulder the minister saw Kyan making frantic signs to him; he interpreted the signals as a request for secrecy concerning the interview by the window.

Several times during the remainder of that week he surprised his housekeeper by suddenly laughing aloud when there was, apparently, nothing to laugh at. He explained these outbursts by saying that he had thought of something funny. Keziah suggested that it must be mighty funny to make him laugh in the middle of sermon writing.

"I've heard sermons that were funny," she said, "though they wasn't intended to be; but what I've heard of yours ain't that kind. I wish you'd let me in on the joke. I haven't been feelin' like laughin' for the last fortni't."

She had been rather grave and preoccupied, for her, of late. Bustling and busy she always was, never sitting down to "rest," as she called it, without a lap full of sewing. The minister's clothes were mended and his socks darned as they had not been since his mother's day. And with him, at meal times, or after supper in the sitting room, she was always cheerful and good-humored. But he had heard her sigh at her work, and once, when she thought herself un.o.bserved, he saw her wipe her eyes with her ap.r.o.n.

"No, no," she protested, when he asked if anything had gone wrong. "I'm all right. Got a little cold or somethin', I guess, that's all."

She would not give any other explanation and absolutely refused to see the doctor. Ellery did not press the matter. He believed the "cold" to be but an excuse and wondered what the real trouble might be. It seemed to him to date from the evening of his chapel experience.

He told no one, not even her, of Kyan's confidential disclosure, and, after some speculation as to whether or not there might be a sequel, put the whole ludicrous affair out of his mind. He worked hard in his study and at his pastoral duties, and was conscious of a pleasant feeling that he was gaining his people's confidence and esteem.

A week from the following Sunday he dined in state at the Daniels's table. Captain Elkanah was gracious and condescending. Annabel was more than that. She was dressed in her newest gown and was so very gushing and affable that the minister felt rather embarra.s.sed. When, after the meal was over, Captain Elkanah excused himself and went upstairs for his Sabbath nap, the embarra.s.sment redoubled. Miss Annabel spoke very confidentially of her loneliness, without "congenial society," of how VERY much she did enjoy Mr. Ellery's intellectual sermons, and especially what a treat it had been to have him as a guest.

"You must dine here every Sunday," she said. "It will be no trouble at all, and if you say no, I shall feel that it is because you don't want to see me--FATHER and me, of course, I mean."

The minister didn't accept this pressing invitation; on the other hand, he could not refuse it absolutely. He did not like Miss Daniels overmuch, but she was the daughter of his leading parishioner and she and her parent did seem to like him. So he dodged the issue and said she was very kind.

He left the big house as soon as he could without giving offense, and started back toward the parsonage. But the afternoon was so fine and the early summer air so delightful that he changed his mind and, jumping the fence at the foot of Cannon Hill, set off across the fields toward the bluffs and the bay sh.o.r.e.

The sun was low in the west as he entered the grove of pines on the bluff. The red light between the boughs made brilliant carpet patterns on the thick pine needles and the smell was balsamy and sweet. Between the tree trunks he caught glimpses of the flats, now partially covered, and they reminded him of his narrow escape and of Nat Hammond, his rescuer. He had met the captain twice since then, once at the store and again on the main road, and had chatted with him. He liked him immensely and wished he might count him as an intimate friend. But intimacy between a Regular clergyman and the son of the leader of the Come-Outers was out of the question. Partisans on both sides would shriek at the idea.