“He’ve a weak stomach,” Aunt Tibbie apologized. “Poor man!” “I tells you, Tibbie,” Jonathan declared, “them parsons haves wonderful hard times. They isn’t able t’ get out in the air enough. Too much book-study. Too much brain labor. I wouldn’t change places with a parson, woman, for all the world!” Aunt Tibbie nodded absently. “I ’low,” said Jonathan, “I’d better be gettin’ under way for the shop.” The man drew on his boots and got into his oil-skins, and had his wrists bandaged and went out. It was a long pull to the shop; but his mind was too full of wonder and sly devising to perceive the labor of the way.... And the trader was silting alone in the shop, perched on the counter, slapping his lean calf with a yardstick, while the rain pattered on the roof and the wind went screaming past. “You got a parson, Jonathan,” said he, accusingly. “Yes, you is.” “Ay,” Jonathan admitted, “I got one.” “An’ that’s what brings you here.” “It be,” Jonathan replied, defiantly. The silence was disquieting. “I’m ’lowin’,” Jonathan stammered, “t’—t’-t’ sort o’ get four tins o’ beef.” The trader beat his calf. “An’ six pound o’ butter,” said Jonathan, “an’ some pickles.” “Anything else?” the trader snapped. “Ay,” said Jonathan, “they is.” The trader sniffed. “The parson haven’t said nothin’, but Tibbie’s got a notion that he’s wonderful fond o’ canned peaches,” Jonathan ventured, diffidently. “She ’lows they’ll keep his food sweet.” “Anything else?” “No—oh no!” Jonathan sighed. “I ’low you wouldn’t give me three pound o’ cheese?” he asked. “Not that the parson _mentioned_ cheese, but Tibbie ’lows he’d find it healthful.” The trader nodded. “About four cans o’ peaches,” said Jonathan. “I see,” said the trader. Jonathan drew a great hand over his narrow brow, where the rain still lay in the furrows. It passed over his red whiskers. He shook the rain-drops from his hand. “Oh, dear!” he sighed. “Jonathan,” said the trader, sharply, “you’re a fool. I’ve long knowed it. But I loves a fool; an’ you’re the biggest dunderhead I ever knowed. You can _have_ the cheese; you can _have_ the beef; you can _have_ the peaches. You can have un all. _But_—you got t’ pay.” “Oh, ay,” said Jonathan, freely. “I’ll pay!” “You’ll go without sweetness in your tea,” the trader burst out, “all next winter. Understand? No sweetness in your tea. _That’s_ how you’ll pay. If you takes these things, mark you, Jonathan!—an’ hearken well—if you takes these things for your parson, there’ll be no molasses measured out for _you_. You’ll take your tea straight. Do you understand me, Jonathan Stock?” “’Tis well,” said Jonathan. “An’—” “The other?” Jonathan interrupted, anxiously. “You wasn’t ’lowin’ t’ have the woman give up that, was you? ’Tis such a little thing.” The trader was out of temper. “Not that!” Jonathan pleaded. “Just that!” Totley exclaimed. “I’ll not give it to her. If you’re t’ have parsons, why, pay for un. Don’t come askin’ me t’ do it for you.”