'A jug of maple syrup--I brought it along from
the store and set it down here to open the door.
What the--'
'There, there, Alvan, please don't swear again,'
said the lady, interrupting. Hillbrook, by the way,
is not the only place in Christendom where a vestigal
polytheism forbids the taking in vain of the Evil
One's name.
The jug of maple syrup which the easy ways of
village life had permitted Hillbrook's foremost citi-
zen to carry home from the store was not there.
'Are you quite sure, Alvan?'
'My dear, do you suppose a man does not know
when he is carrying a jug? I bought that syrup at
Deemer's as I was passing. Deemer himself drew it
and lent me the jug, and I--'
The sentence remains to this day unfinished. Mr.
Creede staggered into the house, entered the parlour
and dropped into an arm-chair, trembling in every
limb. He had suddenly remembered that Silas
Deemer was three weeks dead.
Mrs. Creede stood by her husband, regarding
him with surprise and anxiety.
'For Heaven's sake,' she said, 'what ails you?'
Mr. Creede's ailment having no obvious relation
to the interests of the better land he did not appar-
ently deem it necessary to expound it on that de-
mand; he said nothing--merely stared. There were
long moments of silence broken by nothing but the
measured ticking of the clock, which seemed some-
what slower than usual, as if it were civilly granting
them an extension of time in which to recover their
wits.
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