r it's like they're all beginning to say, he's wedded and
gone to Texas same as his cousin Cyarter done. Cyarter Bonbright run away
with a gal on the night she was to have wedded another feller--tuck her
right out of the country and went to Texas. That's Bonbright nature: they
ain't much on sweet-heartin' an' sech, but when they git it, they git it
hard."

She laid a loving hand on the girl's shoulder, and leaned around to look
frankly into the beautiful, melancholy, dark face with the direct, honest
grey eyes that would admit no concealments between herself and those whom
she really cared for.

"I speak right out to you, Jude," she said kindly, "'caze I see how hit's
been between you an' Creed, an' hit'll hurt you less if you get used to
the idy of givin' him up. Him treated the way he was, I don't know as I'd
blame him."

But Judith could have blamed him. It was only when despair pressed too
hard that she could say she would be glad to know he was alive even
though he belonged to somebody else. Yet to credit Blatch's story for a
moment, to think he had gone that night with Huldah Spiller, was to open
the heart's door on such a black vista of treachery and double-dealing in
Creed's conduct, to so utterly discredit his caring for herself, that she
had no defence but to disbelieve the whole tale, and this she was
generally able to do.

But as far away as Hepzibah a small event was preparing that should break
the monotony of Judith's grievous days. Venters Drane, the elder's
twelve-year-old boy, going to school in the village, fell ill of
diphtheria. When word was brought to the father--a widower and wise--he
loaded his three younger children and their small belongings into the
waggon and drove over to the Turrentine place.

"I jest p'intedly ain't got nary another place to leave 'em, Sister
Barrier, nor nary another soul on earth that I could trust 'em with like
I could with you," he said wistfully, after he had explained the
necessities of the case. "I'm on my way down now to get Venters and bring
him home--look at that, will ye!" as the baby made a dash for Judith who
stood by the wheel looking up.

"They're mighty welcome, Elder Drane," Judith declared warmly, receiving
the little fellow in open arms. "I'll be glad to do for 'em."

Martin and Lucy were old-fashioned, repressed, timid children, with the
pathetic outlook of young persons brought up by a melancholy, ancient
hireling. But the baby, glowing-eyed, l