"Yes."

"What did he look like?"

"Like what they tell the Leatherwood G.o.d looks like. They're half crazy about him at the Corners. They don't hardly talk about anything else."

"Did you think he looked like G.o.d?"

"More like Satan, I should say. He's handsome enough for Satan."

"It was Joseph Dylks."

"Yes, I s'picioned that."

"And he's been here, wanting me to go away with him--Over-the-Mountains."

Laban made a dry sound in his throat and it was by a succession of efforts that he could say, "And--and--and--"

"Oh, could you _ask_, Laban?" she lamented. "You're my husband, don't you know it?" At the sound of her lament a little voice of fear and hope answered from the cabin. The father-hunger came into the man's weak face, making it strong. "Come in and see our baby, Laban."

She put out her hand to him innocently like a little girl to a little boy, and he took it. "I know it's just for the baby; and I feel to thank you, Nancy," he said, and together they went into the cabin.

At sight of him the baby crowed recognition. "She knowed you in a minute," the mother said, and she straightened the skirt of the little one which the father had deranged in lifting the child from the floor. "I don't believe she'll ever forget you; I _reckon_ she won't if I have any say in it. Me and Joey talks about you every night when we're gettin'

her to sleep." She gurgled out a half-sob, half-laugh, as the little one pulled and pushed at his face, which he twisted this way and that, to get her hand in his mouth. "She always cared more for you than she did for me.

I'll set you a piece, Laban; I was just going to get me a bite of something; I don't take my meals very regular, with you not here."

"Well, I _am_ a little hungry with the walk from the Corners, after such an early breakfast."

"Well, you just keep her."

"Oh, _I'll_ keep her," he exulted.

She hustled about the hearth, getting the simple meal, which she made more than she had meant, and they had a joyous strange time together at the leaf she stayed from the well.

He kept the baby in his lap while he ate. Then he walked the floor till she fell asleep in his arms. When he lifted himself from laying her in the rough cradle which he had himself made for her, he said, without looking at the mother, "Now, I must be going, Nancy."

"Don't go on account of me, Laban," she said with the same fierce courage she had shown in driving him from her before. "If it's for me--"

"Nancy, I've thought it all out since I been away. And I reckon I ain't your husband, in the sight of G.o.d. You was right about that; and I won't ever come back again till--as long as--" He glanced wistfully at the little one in the cradle, and then he turned to go out of the door.

"And--and--good-by, Nancy."

She followed him to the door. "Kiss me, Laban!"

He put away the arms she lifted toward him. "No," he said, "I reckon it wouldn't be right," and he turned and walked swiftly away, without looking back.

XI

The woman stood watching the man, as long as she could see him, and long after, with her left hand lifted to the jamb of the door, higher than her head. Then from the distance where he pa.s.sed from sight over the brow of the hill, another figure of a man appeared, and slowly made its way down to the cabin. As she knew while he was still far off, it was Matthew Braile who, as long as he sat in the seat of the scorner, with his chair tilted against the wall, seemed a strong middle-aged man; but when he descended from his habitual place, with the crook of his stick, worn smooth by use, in his hard palm, one saw that he was elderly and stiff almost to lameness. He carried himself with a forward droop, and his gaze bent ponderingly on the ground, as if he were not meaning to look her way, and would pa.s.s without seeing her.

"Squire Braile!" she called to him, and as he straightened himself and turned round toward her, she besought him, "Do you believe there's any G.o.d?"

"Oh!" he answered, and he smiled at the challenge from the somewhat lonely elevation which he knew the thoughts of his neighbors kept, aloof from the sordid levels of politics and business. "Why, Nancy, haven't we got one, right here in Leatherwood?"

"That's what makes me think there ain't any, Squire Braile. If you're not in too much of a hurry, I wish you'd stop and talk to me a minute. I'm in trouble."

"Most women are; or men, for the matter of that. What is it, Nancy? I'm rather stronger on law than gospel; but if I can be any help, why you know your Joey's an old friend of mine, and I'll be glad to help you."

He came toward her where she had stepped from the threshold and sat crouched on the hewn log, and stood looking down at her before he sank at her side.

"You may think it's pretty strange, my asking _you_ for help. Won't you set? I can't let you come inside because the baby's just got to sleep."

"Well," he a.s.sented, "if you're not afraid to be seen with such an infidel in the full light of day," he jested, confronting her from the log where he sank. "What would Brother Gillespie say?"

She ignored his kindly mockery, and again she began, "What makes you believe there's a G.o.d? You don't believe in the Bible?"

"Not altogether, Nancy."

"Do you believe in the Bible G.o.d?"

"As much as the Bible'll let me."

"Then, do you believe in the miracles?"

"What are you after, Nancy Billings?"

"If you saw a miracle, would you believe it?"

"That would depend on who did it. Now, I want you to let _me_ do a little of the catechizing. I've liked you and Laban ever since you came to Leatherwood, and you know how your Joey has all but brought my boy back to me. Well, do _you_ believe in G.o.d?"

"No!"

"Why don't you?"

"A G.o.d that would let Joseph Dylks claim to be Him, and let them poor fools kneel down to him and worship him? Would an all-wise and all-powerful G.o.d do that?"

"What makes you say all-powerful? Haven't you seen time and time again when good didn't prevail against evil, and don't you suppose He'd have helped it if He could? And why do you call Him all-wise? Is it because men are no-wise? That wouldn't prove it, would it? And about the miracles, what does a miracle prove? Does it prove that the person who does it is of G.o.d, or just that faith is stronger than reason in those who think it's happened?"

"But sin: do you think there's such a thing?" Nancy pursued.

"There you are, catechizing _me_ again! Yes, I think there's sin, because I've known it in myself, if I haven't in others."

"And what is it--sin?"

"Well, Nancy, it seems to vary according to the time and place. But I should say it was going against what you knew was right at the time being."

"And do you always know?"