Royce began to have an illuminating sense that “Daddy Sims” was flattered to have so distinguished a guest as Pa’son Tynes, with his widespread oratorical fame, awaiting by the hour Euphemia’s return, and that he could hardly forgive his idol that these precious moments had been wasted in the juggler’s society. Royce perceived the farcical antithesis of the theory which he had been arguing all the afternoon, and realized that there are arbitrary gradations in less sophisticated society than that on which he had predicated the proposition. He felt very small indeed, being thus called upon to look up to Pa’son Tynes. “I dunno what he be wantin’ ter see _me_ fur,” said Euphemia, still with the resentment of being esteemed dilatory, and evidently apprehending a purpose in the call other than the enjoyment of her conversation. “Me nuther,” chuckled Mrs. Sims; “you-uns bein’ seen a outdacious ugly gal ez all the menfolks be compelled ter shade thar eyes whenst ye kem about.” Mrs. Sims’s vicarious coquetry was unblushingly fickle. She did not wait for Euphemia to be quit of the old love before she was on with the new. Nay, in the very presence of the superseded swain she prospectively and speculatively flirted with his problematic successor. “A plague on all fat old women!” thought the juggler, ill at ease and out of countenance. “I hev got my religion,” said Euphemia stiffly, her pride revolting at the idea that perchance Pa’son Tynes had presumed her to be still unconverted, and that his call was pastoral. “I _dunno what_ he kin be a-comin’ pesterin’ round about me fur.” “Waal,” said her mother, still chuckling, “he be a-comin’ agin ter-morrer ter see you-uns. He axed me special ter keep ye home ter view him--no, that wasn’t the way; he knows thar’s better things ter be viewed in this world ’n a lantern-jawed, tallow-faced preacher-man, though from thar own account thar’ll be a power o’ nangels featured like that in heaven--he axed me special ter keep ye home till he could _view you-uns_!” And Mrs. Sims’s chuckle of enjoyment broke from its habitual bounds and into the jolliest of obese laughter. It might have been termed infectious had any one present been sufficiently in spirits to be susceptible to its influence. The juggler was disconcerted and strangely cast down; Euphemia, doubtful, antagonistic, prophetically affronted; and old Tubal Cain’s interest still hinged on the topics of the conversation during the several hours while he had borne the parson somewhat weary company. “He hev hed great grace in the pertracted meet-in’,” her father rattled on, still flustered by the occurrence. “He hev converted fifteen sinners; some hardened cases, too. An’ he hev preached wunst a day reg’lar, an’ sometimes twict.” “Let him go preach some mo’, then,” retorted Euphemia, vaguely resentful.