And on the wings of the intruding, out-of-season wind came a train of
ills. Young Tucker Poteet waked at daylight and howled dismally with a
pain that seemed to be all over and then in spots. When he went to
take down the store shutters Mr. Crabtree smashed one of his large,
generous-spreading thumbs and Mrs. Rucker's breakfast eggs burned to a
cinder state while she tied it up in camphor for him. In the night a
mosquito had taken a bite out of the end of Jennie's small nose and it
was swelled to twice its natural size, and Peter, the wise, barked a
plump shin before he was well out of the trundle bed. One of young
Bob's mules broke away and necessitated a trip half way up to
Providence for his capture, and Mrs. Plunkett had Louisa Helen so
busy at some domestic manoeuvers that she found it impossible to go
with him.
And before noon the whole village was in a fervid state of commotion.
Mrs. Rucker had insisted on moving Mr. Crabtree and all his effects
over into the domicile of his prospective bride, regardless of both
her and his abashed remonstrance.
"Them squeems are all foolishness, Lou Plunkett," she had answered a
faint plea from the widow for a delay until after the ceremony for
this material mingling of the to-be-united lives. "It's all right and
proper for you and Mr. Crabtree to be married at night meeting Sunday,
and his things won't be unmarried in your house only through Saturday
and Sunday. I'm a-going to pack up his Sunday clothes, a pair of clean
socks, a shirt and other things in this basket.
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