Thar ain't all
of us born with the gift of logic, but even when we ain't we might set
silent an' listen to them that is."
A south wind, rising beyond the river, blew over the orchard, and the
barred shadows swung back and forth on the grass.
"'Tis the eye of sense we see with," remarked Reuben quietly.
"Eh, an' 'tis the eye of sense you're weak in," responded old Adam. "I
knew a blind man once that had a pictur of the world in his mind jest as
smooth an' pretty as the views you see on the backs of calendars--with
all the stink-weeds an' the barren places left out of it--an' he used to
talk to us seein' ones for all the earth as if he were better acquainted
with natur than we were."
"I ain't larned an' I never pretended to be," said Reuben, piously, "but
the Lord has used me well in His time an' I'm thankful to Him."
"Now that's monstrous odd," commented the ancient cynic, "for lookin' at
it from the outside, I'd say He'd used you about as bad as is His habit
in general."
He rose from the bench, and dusted the seat of his blue overalls,
while he gazed sentimentally over the blossoming orchard.
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