Anyhow it's so nice and warm you don't need
the things, that's a comfort."
It may have been a comfort to her, but it was not to Caleb. He growled
a reply and turned on his heel. The churchgoers along the main road
received scanty acknowledgment of their greetings.
"Ain't you comin' to meetin'?" asked Abbie Larkin.
"Naw," snarled Caleb, "I ain't."
"Why not? And it's such a lovely day, too."
"Ugh!"
"Why ain't you comin' to meetin', Mr. Hammond?"
"'Cause I don't feel like it, that's why."
"I want to know! Well, you DON'T seem to be in a pious frame of mind,
that's a fact. Better come; you may not feel like church, but I should
say you needed it, if ever anybody did."
Caleb did not deign a reply. He stalked across the road and took the
path to the shore.
As he came opposite the Parker cottage he saw Hannah Parker at the
window. He nodded and his nod was returned. Hannah's experience was as
gloomy as his own. She did not look happy and somehow the idea that she
was not happy pleased him; Abbie Larkin had been altogether too happy;
it grated on him. He was miserable and he wanted company of his own
kind. He stopped, hesitated, and then turned in at the Parker gate.
Hannah opened the door.
"Good mornin', Caleb," she said. "Come in, won't you? It looks sort of
chilly outdoor."
This WAS a kindred spirit. Mr. Hammond entered the Parker sitting-room.
Hannah motioned toward a chair and he sat down.
"Mornin', Hannah," said Caleb.
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