"You knew her first husband, then?"
"Yas, know him? Ev'ybody knew Thad Merlin. He come f'om ovah Pisgah way, an' he took Marthy thar. Hit's quare how things goes. I always liked Thad Merlin. The' wa'n't no harm in him."
David saw a quaint, whimsical smile play about the old man's mouth. "He war a preacher—kind of a mixtur of a preacher an' teacher an hunter. Couldn't anybody beat him huntin'—and farmin'—well he could farm, too,—better'n most. He done well whatever he done, but he had a right quare way. He built that thar rock wall an' he 'lowed he'd have hit run plumb 'round the place.
"He war a fiddler, and he'd build awhile, and fetch his fiddle—he warn't right strong—an' then he'd set thar on the wall an' fiddle to the birds; an' the wild creeturs, they'd come an' hear to him. I seen squerrels settin' on end hearkin' to him, myself. Arter a while, folks begun to think 'at he didn't preach the right kind of religion, an' they wouldn't go to hear him no more without hit war to listen did he say anythin' they could fin' fault with. 'Pears like they got in that-a-way they didn' go fer nothin' else. Hit cl'ar plumb broke him all up. He quit preachin' an' took more to fiddlin', an' he sorter grew puny, an' one day jes' natch'ly lay down an' died, all fer nothin', 'at anybody could see."
"What was the matter with his preaching?" asked David, and