"
"Well, I reckon I'll strike some chawin' man down at the
meetin'-house." Lithicum stood, awkwardly cutting the air with his
whip. "Railly, thar is one thing more," he said, haltingly. "Lizzie
'lowed, as thar was a' extra seat in our wagon, you might like to come
on with us. She said she had some'n' particular to tell you."
"Tell her I am not going," said Westerfelt, sharply. "I am not going."
"Oh, you ain't!" Lithicum looked his surprise both at the decision and
at the unaccountable coldness of the young man's manner, which he had
not noticed till now. "Well, so long, Mr. Westerfelt, I reckon you
know yore own business, but I 'lowed everybody would turn out, through
respect to all concerned, if nothin' else."
"I am not going; it is impossible for me to go," answered Westerfelt,
and he turned abruptly into the house.
Alone in his room, Westerfelt took Sally Dawson's last letter from his
pocket and read it again. Then he lighted a match and started to burn
it, but some inward fear seemed to check him, and the match burned down
to his rigid fingers and went out.
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