e
went bleakly forlorn, hard almost in its helpless pathos. "Only, he
never asks me. He's..." Her pause was broken by sudden passion. "You
watch out for him, Saxon, if he ever comes foolin' around you. He's no
good. Just the same, I'd marry him to-morrow. He'll never get me any
other way." Her mouth opened, but instead of speaking she drew a long
sigh. "It's a funny world, ain't it?" she added. "More like a scream.
And all the stars are worlds, too. I wonder where God hides. Bert
Wanhope says there ain't no God. But he's just terrible. He says the
most terrible things. I believe in God. Don't you? What do you think
about God, Saxon?"

Saxon shrugged her shoulders and laughed.

"But if we do wrong we get ours, don't we?" Mary persisted. "That's what
they all say, except Bert. He says he don't care what he does, he'll
never get his, because when he dies he's dead, an' when he's dead he'd
like to see any one put anything across on him that'd wake him up. Ain't
he terrible, though? But it's all so funny. Sometimes I get scared when
I think God's keepin' an eye on me all the time. Do you think he knows
what I'm sayin' now? What do you think he looks like, anyway?"

"I don't know," Saxon answered. "He's just a funny proposition."

"Oh!" the other gasped.

"He IS, just the same, from what all people say of him," Saxon went on
stoutly. "My brother thinks he looks like Abraham Lincoln. Sarah thinks
he has whiskers."

"An' I never think of him with his hair parted," Mary confessed, daring
the thought and shivering with apprehension. "He just couldn't have his
hair parted. THAT'D be funny."

"You know that little, wrinkly Mexican that sells wire puzzles?" Saxon
queried. "Well, God somehow always reminds me of him."

Mary laughed outright.

"Now that IS funny. I never thought of him like that How do you make it
out?"

"Well, just like the little Mexican, he seems to spend his time peddling
puzzles. He passes a puzzle out to everybody, and they spend all their
lives tryin' to work it out They all get stuck. I can't work mine out.
I don't know where to start. And look at the puzzle he passed Sarah. And
she's part of Tom's puzzle, and she only makes his worse. And they all,
an' everybody I know--you, too--are part of my puzzle."

"Mebbe the puzzles is all right," Mary considered. "But God don't look
like that yellow little Greaser. THAT I won't fall for. God don't look
like anybody. Don't you remember on the wall at the