I had heard Abner’s heavy tread coming along the stanchions toward me, but now all at once it stopped. The farmer’s wife had followed him into the passage, and he had halted to speak with her. “They ain’t no two ways about it, mother,” he expostulated. “We jest got to put the best face on it we kin, an’ act civil, an’ pass the time o’ day as if nothing’d ever happened atween us. He’ll be goin’ the first thing after breakfast.” “Oh! I ain’t agoin’ to sass him, or say anything uncivil,” M’rye broke in, reassuringly. “What I mean is, I don’t want to come into the for’ard end of the barn at all. They ain’t no need of it. I kin cook the breakfast in back, and Janey kin fetch it for’ard for yeh, an’ nobody need say anythin’, or be any the wiser.” “Yes, I know,” argued Abner, “but there’s the looks o’ the thing. _I_ say, if you’re goin’ to do a thing, why, do it right up to the handle, or else don’t do it at all. An’ then there’s the girl to consider, and _her_ feelin’s.” “Dunno’t her feelin’s are such a pesky sight more importance than other folkses,” remarked M’rye, callously. This unaccustomed recalcitrancy seemed to take Abner aback. He moved a few steps forward so that he became visible from where I stood, then halted again and turned, his shoulders rounded, his hands clasped behind his back. I could see him regarding M’rye from under his broad hat-brim with a gaze at once dubious and severe. “I ain’t much in the habit o’ hearin’ you talk this way to me, mother,” he said at last, with grave depth of tones and significant deliberation. “Well, I can’t help it, Abner!” rejoined M’rye, bursting forth in vehement utterance, all the more excited from the necessity she felt of keeping it out of hearing of the unwelcome guest. “I don’t want to do anything to aggravate you, or go contrary to your notions, but with even the willin’est pack-horse there is such a thing as pilin’ it on too thick. I can stan’ bein’ burnt out o’ house ‘_n’ home, an’ seein’ pretty nigh every rag an’ stick I had in the world go kitin’ up the chimney, an’ campin’ out here in a barn--My Glory, yes!--an’ as much more on top o’ that, but, I tell you flat-footed, I can’t stomach Jee Hagadorn, an’ I _won’t!” Abner continued to contemplate the revolted M’rye with displeased amazement written all over his face. Once or twice I thought he was going to speak, but nothing came of it. He only looked and looked, as if he had the greatest difficulty in crediting what he saw. Finally, with a deep-chested sigh, he turned again. “I s’pose this is still more or less of a free country,” he said. “If you’re sot on it, I can’t hender you,” and he began walking once more toward me.