The Uncalled · Chapter 13 (2/2)

“Don’t say that about yoreself, Fred; I ain’t a-goin’ to hear it,” said Eliphalet. “You’ve jest acted as any right-thinkin’ man would ’a’ acted. It wouldn’t ’a’ been right fur you to ’a’ struck Brother Simpson, but I’m nearer his age, an’ my hands itched to git a hold o’ him.” The old man looked menacing, and his fist involuntarily clenched.

“ ’Liphalet,” said his wife, “I’ve been a-meddlin’ with the business o’ Providence, an’ I’ve got my jest desserts. I thought I knowed jest what He wanted me to do, an’ I was more ignorant than a child. Furgive me ef you kin, Fred, my boy. I was tryin’ to make a good man o’ you.”

“There’s nothing for me to forgive, Aunt Hester. I’m sorry I’ve spoiled your plans.”

“I’m glad, fur mebbe God’ll have a chance now to work His own plans. But pore little ’Lizabeth!”

Brent’s heart hurt him as he heard the familiar name, and he turned abruptly and went to his room. Once there, he had it out with himself. “But,” he told himself, “if I had the emergency to meet again, I should do the same thing.”

The next morning’s mail brought him a little packet in which lay the ring he had given Elizabeth to plight their troth.

“I thank you for this,” he said. “It makes my way easier.”