een as good as it used to be."

And though Gabriel's grandmother was a woman of the highest principles,
holding eavesdropping in the greatest contempt, it is possible that she
would have owned to a mild regret that Miss Polly Gaither was too deaf
to hear what Silas Tomlin's troubles were. This was natural, too, for,
on account of the persistent rumours that had followed Silas home from
Mississippi, there was always something of a mystery in regard to his
first matrimonial venture. There was none about his second. A year or
two after he returned home he married Susan Pritchard, whose father was
a prosperous farmer, living several miles from town. Susan bore Silas a
son and died. She was a pious woman, and with her last breath named the
child Paul, on account of the conjunction of the names of Paul and Silas
in the New Testament. Paul grew up to be one of the most popular young
men in the community.

CHAPTER EIGHT

_The Political Machine Begins its Work_

All that has been set down thus far, you will say, is trifling,
unimportant and wearisome. Your decision is not to be disputed; but if,
by an effort of the mind, you could throw yourself back to those dread
days, you would understand what a diversion these trifling events and
episodes created for the heart-stricken and soul-weary people of that
region. The death of Margaret Bridalbin moved them to pity, and awoke in
their minds pleasing memories of happier days, when peace and prosperity
held undisputed sway in all directions. The arrival of the Claibornes
had much the same effect. It gave the community something to talk about,
and, in a small measure, took them out of themselves. Moreover, the
Claibornes, mother and daughter, proved to be very attractive additions
to the town's society. They were both bright and good-humoured, and the
daughter was very beautiful.

To a people overwhelmed with despair, the most trifling episode becomes
curiously magnified. The case of Mr. Goodlett is very much to the point.
He was merely an individual, it is true, but in some respects an
individual represents the mass. When Sherman's men hanged him to a
limb, under the mistaken notion that he was the custodian of the Clopton
plate, the last thing he remembered as he lost consciousness, was the
ticking of his watch. It sounded in his ears, he said, as loud as the
blows of a sledge-hammer falling on an anvil. From that day until he
died, he never could bear to hear the ticking