say if I war speakin' particular. Have you marked how skeery Mr. Mullen
has growed about meetin' my eyes over the rail of the pulpit? Why, 'twas
only yesterday that I brought my guns to bear on the resurrection of
the body, an' blowed it to atoms in his presence. 'Now thar's Reuben
Merryweather who buried one leg at Manassas, Mr. Mullen,' I said as
pleasant an' natchel as if I warn't about to confound him, 'an' what I'd
like to have made clear an' easy to me, suh, is what use the Almighty is
goin' to make of that odd leg on the Day of Jedgment? Will he add a
new one onto Reuben,' I axed, 'when, as plain as logic will have it,
it won't be a resurrection, but a creation, or will he start that leg
a-trampin' by itself all the way from Manassas to jine the other at Old
Church?' The parson had been holdin' pretty free all the mornin' with
nobody daring to contradict him, and a man more taken aback by the power
of logic my sight never lit on. 'Spare me, Mr. Doolittle,' was all he
said, never a word mo'. 'Spare me, Mr. Doolittle.'"

"Ah, a tough customer you are," commented Solomon, "an' what answer did
you make to that, suh?"

Old Adam's pipe returned to his mouth, and he puffed slowly a minute.
"'Twas a cry for mercy, Solomon, so I spared him," he responded.

The wagon had reached the well, and without stopping, the large
white-and-red oxen moved on into the turnpike. Bending from her high
seat, Molly Merryweather smiled at the miller, who made a single stride
toward her. Then her glance passed to the stranger, and for an instant
she held his gaze with a pair of eyes that appeared to reflect his in
shape, setting and colour. In the man's face there showed perplexity,
admiration, ironic amusement; in the girl's there was a glimmer of the
smile with which she had challenged the adoring look of the miller.