Standing at the door, and glancing down the road, she
spied Mrs. Mayfield, Jim, Tom and Lou coming from a stroll among the
hills. Back into the house she ran, snatched down a turkey-wing fan from
a nail in the wall, dusted a rocking-chair, smoothed herself, and was
rocking placidly as any lady of leisure when the hill-side romancers
entered the room.
CHAPTER XII.
DIDN'T DO ANYTHING HEROIC.
During all the morning Jim had been silent. Standing on a purple knob,
arms folded, gazing far away toward the rugged scenes of his life's
work, he had reminded the world-woman of some discoverer, a Cortez
viewing the Pacific; and when to break the spell of his attitude she
asked him why he gazed so fixedly, he replied: "I am looking away off
yander at the duty I am neglecting, ma'm."
"Why, you couldn't neglect a duty, Mr. Reverend."
"I didn't think so, but I am. I put myself in mind of the old feller
that stood all day a smelling of a rose bush when the weeds were choking
his corn. In my wheat field the tares are coming up, now that I am away,
and I ought to be there to pull them up by the roots.
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