To make a convert of a disbeliever, to bring him into their clan, the last one in the town, the skeptic, the cynic. To stop his mouth, to stop his doubt, to put an end forever to his threat. He glanced at the chimney of the oven-house on the far side of this marbled field; the faintest trace of smoke still went up to the sky.
He took one last look at the flowers and the delicate green fern and the blade of grass. Then he closed the lid gently and began filling the earth in over it, working steadily and quietly.
It was midnight when he reached his street, walking. It was five after midnight when, in passing the old man’s place, he heard his own name called. He went up to the porch.
“Hello, George,” said the old man.
“Hello,” said George, uncertainly.
“George,” said the old man, after a pause. “Are you still feeling mean and cantankerous?”
“I feel just fine,” said George.
“You changed your mind any since last time I seen you?” asked the old man. “What do you think now?”
George said, “She’s beautiful. She’s the most beautiful lady I’ve ever seen, so help me.”
“That’s what I like to hear, George,” said the old man. “That’s what I like to hear. Tell you what; you just trot on over tomorrow night for a little game of chess, eh?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I’ll beat the pants off you, son.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Well, good night, George.”
“Good night, sir.”
George went down the steps and away from the house and left the old man sitting there in the dark. He did not look back, but waved his hand quietly when he heard the old man call good night again, and as George opened the screen door at this own house, a moth flew up suddenly, with a very soft touch indeed, and brushed his face, and was gone so quickly that it almost seemed it had never been there.
The end
