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He had not intended to tell Lettice how much the General had cost. And yet, he reflected, since the village knew, with Sim Caley's wife in the house, it had been folly to hope to keep it from her. "It's his pedigree," he explained lamely; "champion stock, imported." His temper again slowly got the better of his wisdom.
Caley's service was abrupt, efficient; she set down plates of hot bread with a clatter; she rattled the stove lids from without, and complained of General Jackson, faithfully following her every movement. Sim Caley wielded an adroit knife; but, under the extraordinary pressure of this bountiful repast, Rutherford Berry easily outdistanced him.
Frequently had the passage over the Blue Mountains been attempted before, but never with any success; and the farthest point which had been reached, called Caley's Repulse, was a spot that almost seemed to forbid man's footsteps to advance beyond it.
There was one difference, indeed, that in Caley's eye money was the chief thing, while power itself was the Swedenborgian hell of the midwife's bliss.
Now, he thought vindictively, when he had finished, the kitchen would suit even Sim Caley's wife the old vinegar bottle. The Caleys had left his house the morning following Lettice's funeral. Mrs. Caley had departed without a word; Sim with but a brief, awkward farewell. Since then Gordon had lived alone in the house; but he now realized that it was not desirable, practicable.
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