“But then,” said the warlike Timothy, not willing to lose sight of reprisal even in vague reminiscence, “he hed only one hand ter rob with arter that, fur I hev hearn ez how when gran'dad got through with him the doctor hed ter take his arm off.” “Sartainly, sartainly,” admitted the old man, in quiet assent. “An' Josiah Kittredge he put out the eyes of a horse critter o' mine right thar at the court-house door--” “Waal, arterward, we-uns fired his house over his head,” put in Tim. “An' Josiah Kittredge an' me,” the old man went on, “we-uns clinched every time we met in this mortal life. Every time I go past the graveyard whar he be buried I kin feel his fingers on my throat. He had a nervy grip, but no variation; he always tuk holt the same way.” “Tears like ter me ez 'twar a fust-rate time ter fetch out the rifles again,” remarked Tim, “this mornin', when old Pa'son Bates kem up hyar an' 'lowed ez he hed married Eveliny ter Abs'lom Kittredge on his death-bed; 'So be, pa'son,' I say. An' he tuk off his hat an' say, 'Thank the Lord, this will heal the breach an' make ye frien's!' An' I say, 'Edzacly, pa'son, ef it _air_ Abs'lom's deathbed; but them Kittredges air so smilin' an' deceiv-in' I be powerful feared he'll cheat the King o' Terrors himself. I'll forgive 'em ennything--_over his grave?_” “Pa'son war tuk toler'ble suddint in his temper,” said the literal Steve. “I hearn him call yer talk onchristian, cussed sentiments, ez he put out.” “Ye mus' keep up a Christian sperit, boys; that's the main thing,” said the old man, who was esteemed very religious, and a pious Mentor in his own family. He gazed meditatively into the fire. “What ailed Eveliny ter git so tuk up with this hyar Abs'-lom? What made her like him?” he propounded. “His big eyes, edzacly like a buck's, an' his long yaller hair,” sneered the discerning Timothy, with the valid scorn of a big ugly man for a slim pretty one. “'Twar jes 'count o' his long yaller hair his mother called him Abs'lom. He war named Pete or Bob, I disremember what--suthin' common--till his hair got so long an' curly, an' he sot out ter be so plumb all-fired beautiful, an' his mother named him agin; this time Abs'lom, arter the king's son, 'count o' his yaller hair.” “Git hung by his hair some o' these days in the woods, like him the Bible tells about; that happened ter the sure-enough Abs'lom,” suggested Stephen, hopefully. “Naw, sir,” said Tim; “when Abs'lom Kittredge gits hung it 'll be with suthin' stronger'n hair; he'll stretch hemp.” He exchanged a glance of triumphant prediction with his brother, and anon gazed ruefully into the fire. “Ye talk like ez ef he war goin' ter live, boys,” said old Joel Quimbey, irritably. “Pa'son 'lowed he war powerful low.”