'Spare me, Mr. Doolittle,' was all he
said, never a word mo'. 'Spare me, Mr. Doolittle.'"
"Ah, a tough customer you are," commented Solomon, "an' what answer did
you make to that, suh?"
Old Adam's pipe returned to his mouth, and he puffed slowly a minute.
"'Twas a cry for mercy, Solomon, so I spared him," he responded.
The wagon had reached the well, and without stopping, the large
white-and-red oxen moved on into the turnpike. Bending from her high
seat, Molly Merryweather smiled at the miller, who made a single stride
toward her. Then her glance passed to the stranger, and for an instant
she held his gaze with a pair of eyes that appeared to reflect his in
shape, setting and colour. In the man's face there showed perplexity,
admiration, ironic amusement; in the girl's there was a glimmer of the
smile with which she had challenged the adoring look of the miller.
The flush left the features of young Revercomb, and he turned back, with
a scowl on his forehead, while old Adam cackled softly over the stem of
his pipe.
"Wiles come as natchel to women as wickedness to men, young Adam," he
said. "The time to beware of 'em is in yo' youth befo' they've bewitched
yo'.
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