“Winter drove the lazy felly inter the house. All day long he’d set be the windy watchin’ fer Annie May; an’ ez she passed he’d smile soft-like; ’hen she was gone he’d look solemn agin. An’ all the time he kep’ gittin’ fatter an’ fatter, an’ more an’ more onrastless. “Winter broke an’ March went by. Apryl first was a fine warm day, so Absalom took his chair out on the porch an’ set there lookin’ down the ridge into the walley, where the men was a-plow-in’. All at oncet he heard a creakin’ o’ wheels an’ a rattle o’ gears that caused him to turn his eyes up the road. Outen the woods come a wagon piled high with furnitur’. It was a flittin’, the Crimmel’s flittin’, ez he knowd ’hen he seen Andy drivin’ an’ the Missus an’ Annie May ridin’ on the horses. Bunkel was stunned--clean stunned. The flittin’ went creakin’ past the house, him jest settin’ there starin’. He knowd what it meant to him. He knowd it was fer him jest the same ez the death of Annie May, but he couldn’t do nawthin’. The wagon swung ’round the bend an’ was out o’ sight. “‘Hen Absalom seen the last o’ the red bonnet flashin’ in the sun, he th’owed his hands to his head like they was a pain there. Sudden he jumped from his chair an’ run toward the road yellin’, ‘Hey! hey! Annie May!’ “He tore th’oo the gate, down the hill, an’ ’round the turn. They was in sight agin. “‘Annie May!’ he called, ‘Annie May!’ “The wagon stopped. The girl climbed offen the horse an’ run toward him, stretchin’ out her hands an’ cryin’, ‘Absalom, Absalom!’ “‘Hen he seen her comin’ he set right down in the road to wait fer her. Her arms fell to her side, an’ she stopped. “‘Annie May,’ he called, ‘come here. I’ve somethin’ to tell yer.’ “She turned an’ walked with hangin’ head back to the wagon. She climbed on her horse, an’ a minute later the flittin’ disappeared in the hollow at the foot o’ the ridge.” The Patriarch arose from his chair, walked slowly to the door and stood there looking out into the rain. The men about the stove gazed in astonished silence at his back. The Miller spoke first. “Well, Grandpap?” “Well?” said the old man, wheeling about. “What happened?” “Who sayd anything was a-goin’ to happen?” snapped the Patriarch. “What become o’ Absalom?” asked the Storekeeper timidly. “Oh, he died o’ over-exertin’,” said the Chronic Loafer, wearily, as he threw himself back on the counter. The Patriarch gave no heed to this remark, but raising his right hand and emphasizing each word with a solemn wag of the forefinger, said, “Boys, I don’t know what happened. Pap never sayd. But now, ’henever I thinks o’ a lazy man, I picturs Absalom Bunkel, settin’ there in the road, his fat legs stretched out afore him, his fat arms proppin’ up that unwieldy body o’ hisn, his eyes an’ his ears a-strainin’ to see an’ hear th’oo the darkness that gathered ’round him what he might ’a’ seen an’ heard allus hed he only hed the ambition to ’a’ gone a few steps furder.” CHAPTER IV. _The Missus._