Here, at last, was a master who could
do something besides find fault with her.
"I jest wan' to be on de groun' de firs' time dat Mars Douglas
and dat ere Deacon Strong clinches," she said to Hasty as they
locked the doors and turned out the hall light. "Did yuh done
see his jaw?" she whispered. "He look laughin' enough NOW, but
jes' yuh wait till he done set dat'ere jaw a his'n and afar ain't
nobody what's goin' ter unsot it."
"Maybe dar ain't goin' ter be no clinchin'," said Hasty, hoping
for Mandy's assurance to the contrary.
"What?" shrieked Mandy. "Wid dat 'ere sneakin' Widow Willoughby
already a-tellin' de deacons how to start de new parson a-goin'
proper?"
"Now, why you's always a-pickin' onto dat 'ere widow?" asked
Hasty, already enjoying the explosion which he knew his defence
of the widow was sure to excite.
"I don' like no woman what's allus braggin' 'bout her clean
floors," answered Mandy, shortly. She turned out the last light,
and tiptoed upstairs, trying not to disturb the pastor.
John Douglas was busy already with pencil and paper, making notes
of the plans for the church and parsonage, which he would perfect
later on. Alas, for Douglas's day dreams! It was not many weeks
before he understood with a heavy heart that the deacons were far
too dull and uninspired to share his faith in beauty as an aid to
man's spiritual uplift.
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