He was not even sure but that he would be used as a missile, a
sort of ponderous pillow swung at one end. So he replied briskly,
'Yes, I am being carried as you see, dear brethren; I don't care about
walking to-day.'
The patriarchs laughed, and followed on to the boat, laughing still
more when Fog gayly tossed in his load of blanket, and they could hear
the little man growl as he came down. 'I say, though, when are you
going to bring him back, Believer?' said one.
'In a few days,' replied Fog, setting sail.
Away they flew; and, when out of harbor, the captive was released, and
Waring told him what was required.
'Why didn't you say so before?' said the little blanket-man; 'nothing
I like better than a wedding, and a drop of punch afterwards.'
His task over, Fog relapsed into silence; but Waring, curious, asked
many a question about the island and its inhabitants. The Preacher
responded freely in all things, save when the talk glided too near
himself. The Mormons were not so bad, he thought; they had their
faults, of course, but you must take them on the right side.
'Have they a right side?' asked Waring.
'At least they haven't a rasping, mean, cold, starving, bony,
freezing, busy-bodying side,' was the reply, delivered energetically;
whereat Waring concluded the little man had had his own page of
history back somewhere among the decorous New England hills.
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