Early in the evening old Jasper Staggs received a visit from Zeb Sawyer, and inasmuch as the social exchanges between them had never been particularly marked, the old man was not a little surprised.

“Well, you see, it aint altogether on your account that I’ve come,” said Sawyer with a weak laugh, seeing that in the old man’s astonishment there lurked an unfavorable suspicion. “Mother and you know she’s getting along took it into her head today that nothing would do her so much good as a visit from your wife and Miss Annie. And she says she’d like mighty well to have you.”

“Well,” said old Jasper, “the women folks are out there in the dinin’ room a fussin’ around, and I reckon they’ll take the time to answer for themselves, jest as I am agoin’ to answer for myself, when I say that I’m obleeged to you, but I can’t come. I’m talkin’ for myself, recollect,” he added, with emphasis, nodding his head and running his fingers through his rim of gray beard. “Yes, sir; for myself, and for myself only.”

“But I guess Aunt Tobithy and Miss Annie will go, won’t they?”

“I have said my say, and it was for myself only, but if you want to know anything consarnin’ the other members of this house, just step right out there where they are tinkerin’ with the dishes, and ask them.”

Sawyer went into the dining-room. There was a hush of the rattle of dishes and knives, and then Sawyer came back and said they were kind enough to go. “I am going to stay here with you,” Sawyer remarked.

“All right,” the old man replied.

“And I believe it will be a little more than all right when I tell you of something. The other day I was at an old house in the country, and an old fellow that lives there took me down into the cellar to show me a new patent churn that he was working on. Well, I didn’t care anything about the churn, you know, not having much to do with cows, but I looked at the thing like I was interested, just to please him. And while I was looking about I saw a small barrel, with dried moss on it, and I asked him about it, and he said it was a whisky barrel that was hid out all during the war. This made me open my eyes, I tell you; but as quiet as I could I asked him if there was any of the liquor left. He said he had about a gallon left, and I told him I’d give him twenty dollars for a quart of it, and I did, right then and there; and if I haven’t got that bottle right with me now, you may crack my head like a hickory nut.”

By this time old Jasper’s jaw had fallen, and now he sat, leaning forward with his mouth wide open. “Zeby,” he said, and his voice sounded as if he had been taken with a sudden hoarseness. “I reckon I am about as fond of a joke and a prank as any man that ever crossed Goose Creek and some great jokers came along there in the early days but there was things too sacred for them to joke about. You know what I said, Zeby?”

“I know all about them old fellows,” Zeb said, with a laugh. “I have heard my granddad talk about them. In fact, he was one of them, and I get it from him not to joke on some things. I’ve that bottle of liquor in my pocket this very minute.”

The old man stepped to the door. “Tobithy; oh, Tobithy.”

“Well,” his wife answered from the dining-room.

“Zeb is powerful anxious for you to go over to his mother’s, as the old lady is wanting to see you, but I don’t see how you can get off.”

Sawyer looked at him in surprise. The old man made him a sign to be quiet.

A dish clattered and his wife exclaimed: “You don’t see how I can go. Oh, no, but you see how I can stick here day after day, killing myself with work. I am going.”

The old man grinned and sat down. “I was afraid she would back out,” he said, “and I wanted to clinch the thing. Jest let me tell her that I am afraid she can’t do a thing and then it would take a good deal more high water than we’ve had for a year or two to keep her from doing it.”

His wife and Annie came into the room and he put on a sober air. “I don’t think you can stay late, for it looks like rain,” he said.

“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 Jasper declared that it took about three fingers at a time to do him any good, and into the declaration the action was dove-tailed. He told a long and rambling story, relating to a time when he had driven a stage coach; a tickling recollection touched him and he leaned back and laughed till the tears rolled down through the time-gullies in his face. Sawyer snapped his watch. The old man told him to let time take care of itself.

“That’s what I’m doing,” said Sawyer. “By the way, I’ve an idea that I’d like to go squirrel hunting. But I broke my gun the other day and sent it to the shop. Haven’t got an old gun around, have you?”

“There’s an old muzzle-loader in there behind the door, standing there ready to break the leg of a dog that comes over to howl in the garden.”

“Can’t shoot a pistol much, can you?”

“Ain’t much of a hand with a pistol, Zeby.”

“Haven’t got one, have you?”

“Had one, but I believe Lyman took it up to his room. There’s a good man, even if you have a cause not to like him; and when I got well acquainted with him I jest ‘lowed that nothin’ on the place was too good for him, so we brushed up the room right over the sittin’ room, and there he sets late in the night and does his work, and sometimes, ‘way late, I hear him walkin’ up and down, arm in arm with an idea that he’s tryin’ to get better acquainted with, he says.”

“Is he up there now?”

“No. He ain’t come in yet. Sometimes he don’t come till late. He’s got fewer regular hours about him than any man I ever seen. He jest takes everything by fits and starts, and he’s mighty funny about some things he don’t let a man know what he’s doin’ at all; never comes down and reads to a body the things that he writes might write a hymn to sing at the camp-meeting, and he never would read it to you.”

The old man drifted into another stage coach reminiscence and Sawyer sat in an attitude of pretended interest, but he heard nothing, so deep-buried was he within himself. He had not much time to spare, and there was one thing that must be done; it was absolutely essential that he must go to Lyman’s room and get the pistol. He poured out more whisky for the old man. Jasper continued to talk, but the memories of the past did not arise to tickle him; they made him sad. He wept over a girl, his first love, a grave more than forty years old. He sobbed over his boy, killed in the army. His chin sank upon his breast. Sawyer got up quickly and began to search for the gun. He found it and hid it under a bed. Then he turned his attention to Lyman’s room. The apartment was approached by an encased stairway, leading from the sitting-room. He lifted the latch and listened, the old man was snoring; the young man felt like a thief; but that was to be expected, and therefore did not alarm his conscience. The stairs creaked, still he did not pause. The door of Lyman’s room, to the left at the head of the stairs, was not locked. Sawyer struck a match and stepped inside. He lighted a lamp and looked about the room. On the table lay sheets of paper, some of them covered with close, nervous writing, and upon others were scratches, half-formed words, the tracks of a mind wandering in a bog. He pulled open the table drawer and eagerly grabbed up a pistol. Then he turned out the light and walked hastily down the stairs. Old Jasper was still asleep, his head on one side, like an old hawk worn out with a long fight. Sawyer put the pistol on the side-board, behind a tin tray standing on edge, and then sat down to wait. It was nearly time for the “boys” to come. He heard a key in the front door lock, and he put out the light. The door opened and closed, the latch of the stair door clicked; he heard Lyman going up to his room.