n a sober air. "I
don't think you can stay late, for it looks like rain," he said.

[Illustration: talking in the kitchen]

"I'm going to stay until I get ready to come back, and it can rain
brick bats for all I care," she replied; and the old man, knowing that
everything was fixed, leaned back with a long breath of contentment.
The women soon took their departure; the old man watched them until
they passed through a gate that opened out upon the sidewalk, then he
looked at Sawyer and said:

"The bottle; I believe you 'lowed you had it with you."

"Right here," Sawyer replied, tapping a side pocket of his coat.

The old man flinched like a horse prodded in a tender place. "Don't do
that again, you might break it," he said. "There ain't nothing easier
to break than a bottle full of old liquor. Let me see," he added, with
an air of deep meditation. "It has been about five months since I
renewed my youth; it was the night Turner was elected Sheriff. And I
want to tell you, Zeby, that to a man who has seen fun and recollects
it, that's a good while. We'll jest wait a minute before we open the
ceremonies. You can never tell when a woman's clean gone. The chances
are that she may forget something and come bobbin' back at any minute.
And it might take me quite a while to explain. There are some things
you can explain to a woman and some things you can't, and one of the
things you can't, is why you ought to take liquor when she don't feel
like takin' any herself. Well, I reckon their start was sure enough,"
he said, looking through the window. "Now, jest step out here in the
dinin' room and make yourself at home, while I pump a pail of fresh
water."

Old Jasper put a pitcher of water on the dining room table. Sawyer sat
with his arms resting on the board, and with a flask held
affectionately in his hands. Old Jasper cleared his throat, and
drawing up a large rocking chair, sat down. He said, as he looked at
the flask, that he had not felt well of late, and that whisky would do
him good. Sawyer would make no apology for drinking such liquor. Good
whisky was to him its own apology. Life at best was short, with many a
worry, and he did not see how a so-called moral code should censure a
man for throwing off his troubles once in a while. The old man needed
no persuasion to lead him on. And in the dim light of a lamp, placed
upon the corner of an old red side-board, they sat glowing with
merriment. Sawyer drank sparingly, but