"'We are sure that you will forgive the nature of this missive, and yet we know that it will hurt you far beyond the pain of the most cruel sword thrust. You, to whom we all extend the deepest love and respect, must prepare to receive a shock, but you must bear it with Christian fort.i.tude.' Do I go too fast, Miss Cunningham?"

"'You, who toom'--I mean--'to whom, etc.'" wrote the secretary.

"Sounds like we're trying to tell him there's a death in the family,"

said Mr. Hardesty.

"'Your wife has been left so long to the mercies of the----' No; please change that, Miss Secretary. 'Your wife has not conducted herself as a good woman should. She has forgotten her wifely honor----'"

"Good Lord!" came a hoa.r.s.e voice from the hallway. The a.s.semblage turned and saw Eugene Crawley. Jim Hardesty afterwards admitted that he did not "breathe fer so long that his lungs seemed air-tight when he finally did try to git wind into 'em."

"What's goin' on here?" grated the unwelcome visitor, after a long pause. He was half-stunned by what he had heard, having entered the hall just as the letter was begun. So intent were the others that no one heard his knock or his entrance.

"Why--why," stammered Mr. Marks, "we were--ahem--writing to----"

"I know what you were doin', so you needn't lie about it, parson.

You're writin' a pack o' lies to Jud Sherrod, a pack o' lies about her.

That's what you're doin'. Who's the one that started this dirty piece of business? How'd you come to meet here this way? Why don't you answer?" snarled Crawley, stepping inside the door.

"We jest happened to drop in an'----" murmured Mr. Bolton from behind his wife.

"You're a liar, Sam Bolton. You're all liars. You come here to ruin that poor girl forever, that's all there is to it. I come here, parson, to ask you to help me befriend her. An' what do I find?

You--you, a minister of the gospel--helpin' these consarned cats an'

dogs here to jest naturally claw that girl to pieces. You git up an'

preach about charity an' love an' all that stuff in your pulpit, an' I set down in front an' believe you're an honest man an' mean what you say. That's what you preach; but if G.o.d really let such pups as you 'tend to His business down here He'd be a fool, an' a sensible man had better steer clear of Him. The size of the matter is, you meal-mouthed sneak, G.o.d made a mistake when you was born. He thought you'd be a fish-worm an' he give you a fish-worm's soul. What are you goin' to do with that letter?"

[Ill.u.s.tration: "'YOU'RE A LIAR--YOU'RE ALL LIARS.'"]

"Eugene, will you let me speak earnestly to you for a few moments?"

asked the young parson. He felt, uncomfortably, that he might be blushing.

"You'll have to speak earnest an' quick, too," returned the other.

"Don't talk to me about my soul, parson, an' all that stuff. I c'n take care of my soul a heap sight better'n you kin, I've jest found out. So, cut it short. What you got to say fer yourself, not fer me?"

"It is time you and she were made to understand the penalty your awful sin will bring down upon----"

"Stop! You c'n say what you please about me, but if you breathe a sound ag'in her I'll fergit that you're a preacher. It won't do no good to plead with you people, but all I c'n say is that she don't deserve a single harsh word from any one. She's the best woman I ever knowed, that's what she is. She's been one of your best church people an' she's as pure as an angel. That's more'n you c'n say fer another man er woman in your congregation. Don't look mad, Mrs. Grimes. I mean what I say. You are the meanest lot of people that G.o.d ever let live, if you keep on tryin' to make her out bad. This thing's gone fer enough. I know I'm not a good man--I ain't fit to live in the same world with her--but she's been my friend after all the ugly things I done to her an' Jud. I come here to-night, parson, to tell you I wuz goin' to leave her place an' to ask you to tell her why. Now, I'm goin' to stay an' I'm goin' to make you an' all the rest of these folks go over an' tell her you're her friends."

"I'll do nothing of the sort," snapped Mrs. Harbaugh.

"Yes, you will, Mis' Harbaugh, an' you'll do it to-morrow," said 'Gene, his black eyes narrowing and gleaming at her.

"Mr. Crawley, you must certainly listen to reason," began the preacher, softly.

"Not until you listen to it yerself," was the answer. "You are committin' an outrage an' you've _got_ to stop it right now." He strode across to where Miss Cunningham sat. Pointing his finger at the partially written letter he said: "Tear that letter up! Tear it up!"

The paper crackled and fluttered to the floor from the secretary's nerveless fingers. He picked it up himself and scattered the pieces about the table.

"Now, how many of you are goin' to kerry this thing any further?" he demanded, wheeling about and glaring at the speechless crowd. There was not a sign of response. "How many of you are goin' to treat her fair?" he went on.

"We intend to treat her fair," said Mr. Marks.

"Do you call it fair to write a letter like that?"

"'Gene's right, by ginger," cried Jim Hardesty. "Shake, 'Gene. I've been ag'in this thing all along."

"I never did approve of it," said Mr. Bolton.

"n.o.body could ever make me believe 'at Justine ever done anything wrong," said Mr. Bossman, emphatically. "You know how I objected to this thing, Maria."

The women looked nervous and ready to weep.

"Mebby we've been too hasty," said Mrs. Harbaugh, in a whining tone.

"I'm goin' over to Justine's to-morry, pore girl," said Mrs. Bolton.

"I'm goin' home now," said 'Gene, "but I want to say jest this: I'll see that she gits fair play. Now, you mark that, every one of you.

An' as fer you, parson, I want to say, bad as I am, that I'm too good a man to go inside your church ag'in."

He went out, slamming the door behind him. After a long pause James Hardesty exploded:

"Who in thunder called this meetin', anyhow?"

CHAPTER XX.

THE SOCIABLE.

On the day following the meeting at the home of Parson Marks, Justine was surprised to receive visits from half a dozen of the leaders in the church society. Mrs. Harbaugh came first, followed soon afterwards by Mrs. Grimes. The "chairman" was graciousness itself. Crawley, from a field nearby, saw the women drive up, one by one, and a grim smile settled on his face.

"I'd like to be in the front room just to hear what the old hens say to Justine," he mused; "I'll bet she's the surprisedest girl in the world.

I hope they don't say anything 'bout that meetin', an' what I done to 'em last night. It 'u'd hurt her terrible."

Properly subdued, Mrs. Harbaugh did a surprising thing--and no one was more surprised than she. On the way over to Justine's place the ex-chairman had been racking her brain for a motive to explain the visit--the first she ever had accorded Justine. Mrs. Harbaugh, it may be said, regarded herself as "quality," and was particular about her a.s.sociates.

Mrs. Sherrod was very uncomfortable and so was Mrs. Harbaugh during the first five minutes of that visit. They sat in the cold, dark little "front room," facing one another stiffly, uttering disjointed commonplaces. Before Mrs. Harbaugh realized what she was doing, she committed herself to an undertaking that astonished the whole neighborhood.

"Justine, I've been thinking of giving a sociable an' an oyster supper next week, an' I want you to be sure to come," she said in desperation, after a long and trying silence.

Now, the truth is, such a thought had not entered Mrs. Harbaugh's head until that very moment. She felt called upon to do something to prove her friendship for the girl, but, now that she had done it, she would have given worlds to recall the impulse and the words. In her narrow heart she believed the worst of Justine. How could she reconcile her conscience to this sudden change of front? She had been the most bitter of denunciators--in fact, she herself had suggested the meeting of the night before. And now she was deliberately planning a "sociable" for the sole purpose of asking the girl to be one of her guests! Mrs. Harbaugh was beginning to wonder if her mind was affected.

Justine was speechless for a moment or two. She was not sure that she had heard aright.

"A sociable, Mrs. Harbaugh?" she asked.

"And an oyster supper," added the other, desperately.