The old Squire and I were driving home from the
village when something brought the incident to his mind, and, since I
was now old enough to understand, he related what had occurred.
When they reached the Sylvester farm that morning grandmother went
indoors with Mrs. Sylvester, and the old Squire proceeded to the barn.
All was very dark and still there, and it was some moments before he
discovered Rufus; the man was sitting on a heckling block at the far
dark end of the barn, huddled down, with his head bowed in his hands.
"Good morning, neighbor!" the old Squire said cheerily. "A fine Sabbath
morning. Spring never looked more promising for us."
Rufus neither stirred nor answered. The old Squire drew near and laid
his hand gently on his shoulder.
"Is it something you could tell me about?" he asked.
Rufus groaned and raised two dreary eyes from his hands. "Oh, I can't!
I'm 'shamed. It's nothin' I can tell!" he cried out miserably and then
burst into fearful sobs.
"Don't let me ask, then, unless you think it might do you good," the old
Squire said.
"Nothin'll ever do me any good again!" Rufus cried. "I'm beyond it,
Squire.
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