“Well,” he said, dropping his work and looking up to impress me, “I’m a man that’ll sometimes say what I don’t believe; that is, I’ll agree with what I hadn’t ought to, just to be friendly like.  I did that way a lot o’ times with Elihu till one day he came to me with something about particular salvation.  I’m a little more liberal myself.  I believe in universal redemption by faith alone.  Well, Elihu came to me and began telling me what he believed.  Finally he asked me something about particular salvation and wanted to know whether I didn’t agree with him.  I didn’t, and told him so.  From that day on he took a set against me, and he ain’t never spoke a word to me since.”

I was unaware that there was anything besides a religious disagreement in this local situation until one day I happened to come into a second friendly contact with the postmaster.  We were speaking of the characteristics of certain individuals, and I mentioned Burridge.

“He’s all right when you take him the way he wants to be taken.  When you don’t you’ll find him quite a different man.”

“He seems to be straightforward and honest,” I said.

“There ain’t anything you can tell me about Elihu Burridge that I don’t know,” he replied feelingly.  “Not a thing.  I’ve lived with him, as you might say, all my life.  Been raised right here in town with him, and we went to school together.  Man and boy, there ain’t ever been a thing that Elihu has agreed with, without he could have the running of it.  You can’t tell me anything about him that I don’t know.”

I could not help smiling at the warmth of feeling, although something about the man’s manner bespoke a touch of heart-ache, as if he were privately grieving.

“What was the trouble between you two?” I asked.

“It’s more’n I could ever find out,” he replied in a voice that was really mournful, so difficult and non-understandable was the subject to him.  “Before I started to work for this office there wasn’t a day that I didn’t meet and speak friendly with Elihu.  He used to have a good many deeds and papers to sign, and he never failed to call me in when I was passing.  When I started to work for this office I noticed he took on a cold manner toward me, and I tried to think of something I might have done, but I couldn’t.  Finally I wrote and asked him if there was anything between us if he wouldn’t set a time and place so’s we might talk it over and come to an understanding.”  He paused and then added, “I wish you could see the letter he wrote me.  Comin’ from a Christian man—­from him to me—­I wish you could see it.”

“Why don’t you show it to me?” I asked inquisitively.

He went back into the office and returned with an ancient-looking document, four years old it proved to be, which he had been treasuring.  He handed me the thumbed and already yellowed page, and I read: 

    “MATTHEW HOLCOMB, ESQUIRE,

“DEAR SIR:—­In reply to your letter asking me to set a time and place in which we might talk over the trouble between us, would say that the time be Eternity and the place where God shall call us to judgment.

    “Very truly,
    “ELIHU BURRIDGE.”