"Nonsense, 'Liphalet! you 'ain't got no insight at all. I believe in people a-doin' their part an' not a-shovin' everything off on the Lord. The shiftless don't want nothin' better than to say that they will leave the Lord to take care o' things, an' then fold their arms an' set down an' let things go to the devil. Remember, Brother Hodges, I don't mean that in a perfane way. But then, because God made the sunlight an' the rain, it ain't no sign that we should n't prune the vine." Miss Hester's face had flushed up with the animation of her talk, and her eyes were sparkling with excitement. Eliphalet looked at her, and his heart leaped. He felt that the time had come to speak. "Miss Hester," he began, and the hat in his hand went round and round nervously. "'Liphalet, fur goodness' sake do lay yore hat on the table. You 'll ruin the band of it, an' you make me as nervous as a cat." He felt a little dampened after this, but he laid down the offending hat and began again. "I 've been thinkin' some myself, Miss Hester, an' it 's been about you." "About me? La, 'Liphalet, what have you been a-thinkin' now?" The "now" sounded as if his thoughts were usually rather irresponsible. "It was about you an'--an'--old Bess." "About me an' old Bess! Bless my soul, man, will you stop beatin' about the bush an' tell me what on airth I 've got to do with yore horse?" "Old Bess is dead, Miss Hester; died last night o' colic." "Well, I thought there was somethin' the matter with you. I 'm mighty sorry to hear about the poor old creatur; but she 'd served you a long while." "That 's jest what set me a-thinkin': she has served me a long while, an' now she 's dead. Do you know what that means, Miss Hester? It means that we 're a-gittin' old, you an' me. Do you know when I got old Bess? It was nigh thirty years ago: I used to ride her up to this door an' tie her to that tree out there: it was a saplin' then. An' now she 's dead." The man's voice trembled, and his listener was strangely silent. "You know on what errands the old horse used to bring me," he went on, "but it was n't to be,--then. Hester," he rose, went over to her, and looked down into her half-averted face, which went red and pale by turns,--"Hester, 'ain't we wasted time enough?" There was a long pause before she lifted her face: he stood watching her with the light of a great eagerness in his eyes. At last she spoke. There was a catch in her voice; it was softer than usual. "'Liphalet," she began, "I 'm right glad you remember those days. I 'ain't never furgot 'em myself. It 's true you 've been a good, loyal friend to me, an' I thank you fur it, but, after all these years--"