All the morning the two men
worked side by side with crippled Denny.
Returning to his self-appointed task in the afternoon, Dan was met by
the brawny Irishman who in a towering rage, was just leaving the house.
"Parson," he roared, "'tis a good man ye are, if ye be only a protestant
preacher--a damn good man sir, beggin' your pardon! But you've got a
danged poor kind of a boss, thot'll be lookin' more like he ought to
when I git through with him."
"Why, what's the matter?" asked Dan stopping with his back to the gate,
thus blocking the way, for he saw that the stranger was bent on violence
to someone. "Whom do you mean, by my boss?"
"Who do I mane? And who should I mane, but him that runs the thing yonder
they call a church, beggin' your pardon, sir. 'Tis the Elder, as you call
him--Judge Strong. I'll judge him, if I can coax him widin reach of my
two hands." He shook his huge, hairy fists in the air. "It's not strong
but wake he'll be when I git through wid him. Leave me pass, if you
please, sir."
Dan held his place. "Come, come McGowan," he said, "let's go into the
house and you tell me about this."
Deborah, who with Denny was standing in the doorway, called out to them,
"That's right Mr. Matthews. Come on in Mike, and talk it over quiet like;
let the minister tell ye what to do. It's him that'll save us a sight o'
trouble that nobody wants. Come in sir! Come on Mike, come with the
minister."
The wrathful Irishman hesitated.
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