As he plodded along over the rough road, he had two very distinct ideas in his mind: one was, that he hadn’t the slightest notion of what to say to Tappelmine; the other, and stronger, was, that it would be a relief to him to discover that Tappelmine was away from home, or even sick in bed--yes, or even drunk. But this hope was of very short duration, for soon the old man heard the Tappelmine axe, and, as he rounded the corner of the miserable house, he saw Tappelmine himself--a tall, gaunt figure in faded homespun, torn straw hat, and a tangled thicket of muddy-gray hair. The face which Tappelmine turned, as he heard the approaching footsteps, was not one to warm the heart of a man inspired only by an unwelcome sense of duty; it was thin, full of vagrant wrinkles; the nose had apparently started in different directions, and each time failed to return to its original line; the eyes were watery and colorless, and the lips were thin and drawn into the form of a jagged volcano crater. “The idee of doin’ anything for such!” exclaimed Father Baguss under his breath. “O Lord! _you_ put me up to this here job--unless it was all Crupp’s work; now see me through!” Then he said, “How are you, neighbor?” “Oh! off an’ on, ’bout as usual,” said Tappelmine, with a look which seemed to indicate that his usual condition was not one upon which he was particularly to be felicitated. “How’d your crop turn out?” asked Father Baguss, well knowing that “crop” was a terribly sarcastic word to apply to the acre or two of badly cultivated corn which Tappelmine had planted, but yet feeling a frantic need of talking against time. “Well, not over’n above good,” said Tappelmine, as impervious to the innocent sarcasm as he would have been to anything but a bullet or a glass of whiskey. “I dunno what would have ’come of us ef I hadn’t knocked over a couple of deer last week.” “You might have given a hint to your neighbors, if worst had come to worst,” suggested Father Baguss, perceiving a gleam of light, but not so delighted over it as a moment or two before he had expected to be. “Nobody’d have stood by an’ seen you starve.” “Glad you told me,” said Tappelmine, abruptly raising his axe, and starting two or three large chips in quick succession. The light seemed suddenly to be departing, and Father Baguss made a frantic clutch at it. “You needn’t have waited to be told,” said he. “You know well enough we’re all human bein’s about here.” “Well,” said Tappelmine, leaning on his axe, and taking particular care not to look into his neighbor’s eye, “I used to borry a little somethin’--corn, mebbe, or a piece of meat once in a while; but folks didn’t seem over an’ above glad to lend ’em, an’ I’m one of the kind of fellows that can take a hint, I am.” “That was ’cause you never said a word ’bout payin’ back--leastways, you didn’t at _our_ house.” Tappelmine did not reply, except by looking sullen, and Father Baguss continued: