Oldfield's wrath.
The trembling consciousness prevailed that he might at any moment
descend again, wrapped in that inexplicable atmosphere of loftier
meanings.

Still, Tiverton was glad to put the question by, for she had enough to
do. The celebration knocked at the door, and no one was ready. Only Brad
Freeman, always behindhand, save at some momentary exigency of rod or
gun, was fulfilling the prophecy that the last shall be first. For he
had, out of the spontaneity of genius, elected to do one deed for that
great day, and his work was all but accomplished. In public conclave
assembled to discuss the parade, he had offered to make an elephant, to
lead the van. Tiverton roared, and then, finding him gravely silent,
remained, with gaping mouth, to hear his story. It seemed, then, that
Brad had always cherished one dear ambition. He would fain fashion an
elephant; and having never heard of Frankenstein, he lacked anticipation
of the dramatic finale likely to attend a meddling with the creative
powers. He did not confess, save once to his own wife, how many nights
he had lain awake, in their little dark bedroom, planning the anatomy of
the eastern lord; he simply said that he "wanted to make the critter,"
and he thought he could do it. Immediately the town gave him to
understand that he had full power to draw upon the public treasury, to
the extent of one elephant; and the youth, who always flocked adoringly
about him, intimated that they were with him, heart and soul. Thereupon,
in Eli Pike's barn, selected as of goodly size, creation reveled, the
while a couple of men, chosen for their true eye and practiced hand,
went into the woods, and chopped down two beautiful slender trees for
tusks. For many a day now, the atmosphere of sacred art had hung about
that barn. Brad was a maker, and everybody felt it. Fired by no
tradition of the horse that went to the undoing of Troy, and with no
plan before him, he set his framework together, nailing with unerring
hand. Did he need a design, he who had brooded over his bliss these many
months when Tiverton thought he was "jest lazin' round?" Nay, it was to
be "all wrought out of the carver's brain," and the brain was ready.

Often have I wished some worthy chronicler had been at hand when
Tiverton sat by at the making of the elephant; and then again I have
realized that, though the atmosphere was highly charged, it may have
been void of homely talk. For this was a serious moment, a