Peter Loon by Van Reid Read Free Book Online Page B

lose the horse’s helpful labor, but it was not much further to Crispin’s relatives, so the two men released the animal of Parson Leach’s promise. Parson Leach was thankful for his horse’s sake, and the older woodsman allowed, in a wry manner, that the creature had worked enough for his master’s word.
    Manasseh and Crispin had reconciled themselves to Peter and shook his hand; they considered that he had proven himself mortal enough, after all, having had the good sense not to grow fins and disappear into a stream, or wings and leap from a hill.
    â€œâ€˜ Good company and good discourse are the very sinews of virtue? ’” said the parson before Manasseh Cutts and Crispin Moss turned east again. “Those are more words from Mr. Walton.”
    â€œHe was a wise man,” said Manasseh Cutts, perhaps wryly, before leaving, “even did he write books.” He insisted that the parson and Peter Loon take a cut of the buck’s thigh. “It’ll make you more than welcome at the tavern down yonder,” he said, and though he was glad enough to be shaken of the young man who had appeared to spring full grown from the fallen creature, he inquired of Peter’s wounds before he left and wished him well. The preacher hung the deer thigh at his saddle and climbed onto Mars with a small groan.
    And so Peter Loon did not go to Patricktown, or even Plymouth Gore, that day, but accompanied Parson Leach and Mars around and down a series of small hills to the settlement on the shores of Great Bay in the part of the district known as Balltown. They flushed a partridge on one of these slopes and Peter was startled from a weary daze by the creature’s sudden noisy flight.
    There were about ten or twelve sizable buildings in the settlement, and as many small outbuildings and privies. Peter could see no church, or at least no building attempting to look like a church–no spire or high windowed nave. The street took a dogleg to the right and there were two or three more buildings nearer the shore of the wide lake.
    It was not Parson Leach’s first visit to the hamlet, as was made evident when they approached the single dirt street and he remarked that there were more people about than he had seen there before. He had, in fact, preached there on several occasions, which was evidenced by the greetings hailed to him by passersby, or more accurately lingerers round about the tavern in the midst of the little hamlet.
    â€œSouls or sovereigns will it be, Reverend Leach?” wondered one wag, who may have seen a book or two, even if he had never read one.
    As they neared the center of the settlement, Peter could sense the giddy air of important business that riles people who lurk along the periphery of understanding to foolish behavior. Two or three young men approached the parson to inquire if he had come into town because of the rumors flying about. “I don’t seek after rumor, as a general thing,” was his reply.
    â€œDo you think we’ll be to war again?” wondered another.
    â€œWhat, have the British come up river?” returned the parson, but Peter could see the man’s interest was up. “The last I heard, peace was signed, eighteen years hence, but I’ve been in the woods a fair bit.” There were enough horses and carts about that the few hitching posts in town were occupied and the parson tied Mars to the railing of the little porch outside the village tavern.
    â€œIt’s our own Great Men come up the river, you might say,” said the first young fellow. Two or three older, more sober-faced gentlemen came up to the tavern stoop to see what the ruckus was.
    â€œYou surprise me,” said the parson simply, indicating something opposite by his expression. “But Peter, here, and I would share out some of this thigh,” he informed the congregants outside the tavern, indicating the portion over Peter’s shoulder,