what does tantalize a man! But then," with a lowered

tone of resignation, "if we live right, may be we'll know them hidden things in the next life."

"You mean when we're dead?"

"No, I mean when we're altogether alive; most of us ain't more'n half in this life. Look here, try-try an' think, Krin! Ain't there times when your living seems like a dream to you, an' you know if you could only wake up you'd get out o' the troubles o' that dream? An' then the bit o' God that's in us 'll be stronger, an' show us how to work to help other souls that's asleep; an' then-an' then we'll know, too, the souls that belong to us, an' that we belong to, like we never could know clear in this life. Don't you never know them thoughts?"

She drew back in a distressed sort of way before the energy of his speech.

"Please, sir, don't, Bud," she entreated, wistfully. "Them thoughts is some like religion, but they ain't the church religion; church religion don't say we all are part of the Lord. No, the Lord's jest by Himself, an' some day, if we have the faith right, we'll all see Him; that's what we're taught, an' why must you go conjure up things different, Bud? You're good-you're powerful good to folks, but don't talk that-a-way. You do put idees in my head that's like witchcraft, sometimes; yes they are. I seem while you're talkin' just to hear an' see the things you do; an' it's wicked, oh, it is, Bud! an' I don't want to be wicked, I don't!

Her voice, with the wail in it, made him turn his head away instead of toward her.

"Go an' get Edie," he said, in a colorless sort of tone; "I hear her crying, an' you'd better."

She arose obediently, but checked her going, at sight of the still form and the face so strangely turned away.

I

"Don't be mad, Bud," she said, falteringly; "it ain't you think is wicked, it's the thoughts about the lives before this the lives in the trees, an' the birds, an' the flowers, an' the notion that God is in them, an' in us, 'stead of in heaven. That's why folks call you Pagan; 'tain't that you're wicked. But I allow," she added, unconsciously exalting him "I allow them unreligious idees would make anyone but you wicked."

For one unguarded instant he turned to her a face so alight with warmth and feeling that she looked startled, as when he had come on her unawares a little while before.

"Some day, Krin, we'll know all the things for sure that we only guess at here; an' I wonder-I wonder if you'll judge me as kind then. Will you? But "— and he shook his head-" that ain't noways fair to ask; it'll depend on myself what judgment I get, an' it's sure to be justice. But if you should turn against me—"

He stopped, evidently having no intention of saying so much. The girl looked at him wistfully.

"No, sir; I ain't ever like to turn agin you," she said, "though I do wish you was more like folks that's contented. Folks ought to be contented, Bud."

"Don't know," he debated. "I've a notion that there wouldn't ever a been any improvements in the world if somebody hadn't started to be dissatisfied, and may be we'd all a been walking on four feet yet 'stead o' two.”

"Now don't you, Bud!" she said, pleadingly. "You make folks turn agin you with that heathen talk; an' I wonder why it is you care special whether I do, for I don't know much! Is it-is it jest 'case I favor that girl o' yours, that one that died, or—”

"Yes," he said, looking at her curiously. "You asked me once before; I told you."

"I know you did-you told me some; but Granny, she

said there never was any girl around here looked like me. Did-did your girl die long ago, Bud?"

He avoided looking at her, as he said, gravely: "Some day, in the next world, when she is my girl-when she's given back to me-I'll ask her."

In a wondering sort of despair, she turned away from him, not unkindly, but uncomprehendingly, and entered the house. He watched her until she disappeared, then the light in his eyes changed, as the face of the earth changes when the sun goes down; and when she emerged he was hoeing away at the potatoes as if no thought more perplexing than their case ever crossed his mind.

"Granny, she's comin', too," she announced, holding the little blue-eyed mite up that he might see how it was improving. "She wants to ask you 'bout them men, the ones that were searchin'."

“Yes”—he had taken the child in his arms a moment, touching the velvety cheek softly with great tender hands"yes, she's brighter; an' she's favoring you more and more, Krin. What's to be done with this family and this child, allowing that he has left the mountain for good? You've got to make plans."

"I know," she said, soberly. "I've tried to think, but I hain't been able yet; it's jest been on my mind heavy as that cloud hangs there, an' me a waitin' for it to break away. I've jest been waitin' like that for somethin' to happen."

He glanced up at the cloud, and gave her back the child. "I allow you won't try to scratch a living out o' this ground, anyway," he said, digging again into the stony, rooty soil.

"I'd spin if I could get folks to spin for," she answered; "but I don't know-women folks seem scared o' this Ledge; Granny says 'case o' snakes. Sometimes I've been thinkin', Bud, it's becase o' Granny."

The approach of that lady made further discussion of the subject rather awkward, and Krin asked:

"Did you hear late news of Mr. Edson? I heard tell he dassen't go out in the sun at all.”

"He was forbid a spell, but he's been seen walking a little ways. He's on the mend.”

"I wonder-do you know," she asked, low and hurriedly, for the other feet were drawing closer" do you know if he's set against us any for gettin' shot here on our account? I've been tormented some about that. Do ye think-"

"No, he ain't set against you; he thinks kind an' respectful o' you," he went on, with dogged honesty, "counting from the way he done that night, fetching the doctor, an' all; but s'posing he was set against you?" and he leaned on the hoe-handle and looked at her steadily. "S'posing he was?"

"Oh, I don't know," she faltered; "only I-yes, I would, too, Bud; I'd mind it a heap. He's been a comfort to me twice now. Yes, I would mind," she repeated, more decidedly, drawing the child closer, and rocking to and fro on the stump. "I ain't like to forget what he's done for me." "I'll be bound she's goin' on about young Edson, now," cackled Mrs. Le Fevre, Sr.; "ye'd reckon he was nigh about God A'mighty, to hear her. Jest's ef he cured that chile! Huh! heap o' good them store medicines done. Not but what the young blade is all right," she added; "he's game, anyway. He caught the ball that was aimed for Dick, an’ give Dick time to go. Heard anything new?"

"No special thing," he answered, resuming his work in a way that gave little chance for conversation.

o' the mountain; that's all I'm sure of."

"No signs?"

He shook his head.

"Dick's clear

"Gettin' mighty keen fer work," she observed, "when ye come up here an' hoe our potato-patch. Got none o' yer own?"

Receiving no reply to this ironical remark, she whistled to the dogs, and turned her steps toward the wood.

Dogs are better company than human critters as won't talk," she decided, with them leaping and tumbling over each other to get closest to her. "May be ye'll find more gab to give the other 'widder' than ye have for me;" and laughing shrilly in laudation of her own wit, she turned away, and Krin arose to go back to the house; but low, threatening growl from Dame Le Fevre's body-guard halted them both.

"Strangers!" murmured the girl, fearfully, and took a step nearer Bud.

"I don't think you have need to be nervous," he said, his eyes on the bushes; "it's the men I heard on the mountain. Yes, it is. It's Will Riker, an'—"

She knew why his speech had halted when the men came a little closer. One of them had been of the sheriff' crowd that night, the other she had never seen.

Riker's good-natured face looked troubled; he spoke in an embarrassed, hesitating way to the old woman, and then came down to Krin, who watched him with questioning eyes.

"What is it?" she asked. "Something we're to knownow what?"

"Well, Krin," he began, and stopped, looking around at the strangers as if for assistance.

"It's about Dick?" asked Bud, looking also at the strangers, who seemed to have come in no hostile mood to-day. They nodded, glancing with a sort of sympathy at the slim girl with the baby.

"Yes, that's what it is," said Riker; "an' I-I jest got