She winced as from undeserved reproach when presently Leander's proclivities for the society of the gay young blades about the countryside, sometimes reputed “evil men,” were attributed to this exile of the violin from the hearth-stone. She roused herself to disputation, to indignant repudiation. “They talk ez ef it war _me_ ez led the drinkin', an' the gamin', an' the dancing and sech, ez goes on in the Cove, 'kase whenst Lee-yander war about fryin' size I wouldn't abide ter hev him a-sawin' away on the fiddle in the house enough ter make me deef fur life. At fust the racket of it even skeered Towse so he wouldn't come out from under the house fur two days an' better; he jes sot under thar an' growled, an' shivered, an' showed his teeth ef enny-body spoke ter him. Nobody don't like Lee-yan-der's performin' better'n I do whenst he plays them saaft, slippin'-away, slow medjures, ez sound plumb religious--ef 'twarn't a sin ter say so. Naw, sir, ef ennybody hev sot Lee-yander on ter evil ways 'twarn't me. My conscience be clear.” Nevertheless she was grievously ill at ease when one day there rode up to the fence a tall, gaunt, ill-favored man, whose long, lean, sallow countenance, of a Pharisaic cast, was vaguely familiar to her, as one recognizes real lineaments in the contortions of a caricature or the bewilderments of a dream. She felt as if in some long-previous existence she had seen this man as he dismounted at the gate and came up the path with his saddle-bags over his arm. But it was not until he mustered an unready, unwilling smile, that had of good-will and geniality so slight an intimation that it was like a spasmodic grimace, did she perceive how time had deepened tendencies to traits, how the inmost thought and the secret sentiment had been chiselled into the face in the betrayals of the sculpture of fifteen years. “Nehemiah Yerby!” she exclaimed. “I would hev knowed ye in the happy land o' Canaan.” “Let's pray we may all meet thar, Sister Sudley,” he responded. “Let's pray that the good time may find none of us unprofitable servants.” Mrs. Sudley experienced a sudden recoil. Not that she did not echo his wish, but somehow his manner savored of an exclusive arrogation of piety and a suggestion of reproach. “That's my prayer,” she retorted, aggressively. “Day an' night, that's my prayer.” “Yes'm, fur us an' our households, Sister Sudley--we mus' think o' them c'mitted ter our charge.”