"We better put down deze yere guns an' pray erwhile," said Alf. "Oh, Lawd, is you gwine ter let de elements kill yo' po' ole servant? My greshus, yere dem limbs strikin' de house! Dar ain't been no sich er storm ez dis--mussyful hebens, is de house down! Oh, I thought we gone dat time, sho. Deze ole logs wuz put yere ter stay--dat is, I hopes so."
"This storm will protect us from the Duns until morning, at least," Potter rejoined. "This lightning will purify our air against their poisonous vapors."
"Then," said John, "let us hope that this wind is not ill. Mr. Potter, you remember the first day I ever saw you, when we were sitting in the yard discussing a plan upon which, to me at least, there has fallen such a promise of ripeness, you said that I might think it strange that you should seek to bury yourself here in the woods."
"And you said that some time in the future you hoped to tell me the cause."
"Well, is not this a most befitting time? If a storm drove you to this place let a storm drive out to me your confidence. I have often seen you put your book aside and give yourself to moments of so deep a brooding that, though I would not seek to be obtrusive, I have tried to study out your mystery. This storm, I think, is growing worse. To-morrow--well, to-morrow we may not be here. Tell me now."
A lingering, quivering light fell on Potter's face, and under the glare John could see the darkened lines of trouble.
"No, my dear boy, I can not tell you now. That I have confidence in you, you well know; that I have an affection for you, you must feel. I have watched the soft color of sadness which I once saw under the sunburn on your face grow brighter with an eager glow. I have seen your mind unfold, and each day have found something new in you to admire, but I can not tell you what you crave to know. There, the lightning is growing dimmer. From a roar the wind is shrinking to a wail."
"Yas," said Alf, "an' I thank de Lawd fur it, too; I tell you dat. It won't do ter fool wid one deze yere storms dat puts on er black nightcap an' w'ars red ribbons at its throat. I think we mout ez well lay down yere now an' sleep erwhile. Dem men ain't gwine ter come yere ter-night; but I do b'l'ebe da'll be yere in de mawnin'; an' ef da block us up in yere de neighbors will jes' let us stay yere an' starve, caze, I tell yo, da so monst'us feerd o' dem fellers."