obliged,” said Jay.
The wagon grew larger and larger, and now the dark, deeply lined faces of the man and woman became distinct: the sad, deeply lined faces of the profound country which seemed ancient even in early maturity and which always gave Jay a sense of peace. The woman sat high above the mule; the flare of her deep bonnet had the shape of the flare of the wagon’s canopy. The man stood beside his wagon, one clayed boot cocked on the clayed hub. They gazed gravely into the eyes of the men on the ferry, and neither of them moved, or made any sign of salutation, until the craft was made fast.
“Ben here long?” the ferryman asked.
The woman looked at him; after a moment the man, without moving his eyes, nodded.
“Didn’t hear yer holler.”
After a moment the man said, “I hollered.”
The ferryman put out his lantern. He turned to Jay. “Twarn’t rightly a dark crossing, mister. I can’t charge ye but the daytime toll.”
“All right,” Jay said, giving him fifteen cents. “And much obliged to you.” He put out his headlights and stooped to crank the car.
“Hold awn, bud,” the wagoner called. Jay looked up; the man took two quick strides and took control of the mule’s head. The wagoner nodded.
The engine was warm, and started easily; and though with every wrench of the crank a spasm of anguish wrenched the mule, once the engine leveled out the mule stood quietly, merely trembling. Jay put it violently into low to get up the steep mud bank, giving the mule and wagon as wide a berth as possible, nodding his regret of the racket and his friendliness as he passed; their heads turned, the eyes which followed him could not forgive him his noise. At the top he filled his pipe and watched while the mule and wagon descended, the
