The Leatherwood God

eting which often emphasizes the self-forgetfulness of love as well as marks the formlessness of common life: "Your supper's

sently muffled in the towel. Her hearing followed him through his supper, and she knew he was obediently eating it, and patiently waiting for her to account for whatever was unwonted in he

aid with a stony quiet. "Don't tou

hen it was like him to ask, "W

swered. "Nothing but good, a

t he had to ask, "Joseph D

lood on you too. Oh, if he was only dead! Yes, yes! I have

w did you kno

glad you went first." The man looked up at the rifle resting on the pegs above the fireplace. "La

to do?" the man as

o nothing if I didn't. If he ha

ht where he stood from

at David's. He's pass

the snor

rec

Cross Roads. Why didn't

w. He likes to be sure before he speaks. He was s

did he

in sin for us to keep t

we come together without knowing

is!" she

no secret of it; we've lived together four years.

and she gave him a bag made from an old pillow tick, with a few clothes lumping it half full. "I'll carry the baby, Laban." She pulled back from him with the child in her arms. "Or no, you can carry her; you'll have to leave he

asked, half turning with the

I'll see, to-morrow. It seems

for a minute; he'll go to bed when he comes; he'l

ings, to feel the way you always do about Joey. You've been a

their case with her as before an adverse judge. Worn as she was with the arguments for and against them after the long day of iteration, she could not refuse to let him plead

ad gone to the Reverdys, and was

by from its father's arms. "Laban has come with me to sa

ed, Nancy. It doesn't matter about me.

like Nan

ousness. Your path is dark before you

lplessly, and Nancy a

hbors. This is a cross to me, too, Nancy. I have lived a proud life here; there has ne

e Cross Roads, the Wilkinses do. I can go now as well as in the morning. I

blame you,"

work there a

usly: "I don't know what to say. I suppose I am weak.

days and see Nancy and th

u'll be making it harder for y

ere'll be light-that li

Laban, to let you do this thing. I ought to have strength for all of u

vid. I don't. And I'm not sure I'll ever let you come. Say good-by as i

he lamented, a

if to take her in them; b

a man!" She went into the cabin, with her baby over her shoulder; but in a little while she came back without it, and stared after the figure o

ds, but she knew them from the tune; as well as if she were in the Temple with them she knew what the people were singing. While she followed the lines help

she cr

mom?" he asked tender

t's all. I didn't expect you. Why ain't you at

irst rate miller. I helped to dress the burrs this morning-the millstones, you know," the boy explained, p

ad boy, Joey," his m

It seemed like there was somebody dead; I dasn't hardly go in,

to the Cross Roads; he's g

ain. "I reckon you come over here because it seemed k

't mind being

Not much,

here too, if

brung Benny Hingston with me. I though

ertainl

the house; I wan

now when you go back with him be careful of the lamp. I put a fresh piece of rag in and there'

n Leatherwood. Oh, I do like being in the mill with Mr. Hingston."

, Jo

to-night." The mother hesitated, and the boy urged, "They say that strange man-well, some calls him the Snorter and some the Exhorter-is goin' to pr

r being out late, Joey. I'd feel bet

a silent interval he caught it up again cheerily. "Oh, well, I reckon Benny won

es

s the best they is. Can we have

, and he said again, as if relinq

him. "Yes, go to the Te

nny, hurrah! She's

shouting and laughing together, and then the muted scamper

" She drew her breath in a long sigh, and went into the cabin. "W

ancy?" her brother asked

the baby? Oh! I know. I've let Joey go to the Te