lied, unperturbed--severe as
it had always been, as it would be when it came back again after the
world settled down once more to rational ways.

That night, when he came home, she proposed, as an emergency measure,
that she should resume her needlework and help keep the pot boiling
until the strike was over. But Billy would hear nothing of it.

"It's all right," he assured her repeatedly. "They ain't no call for you
to work. I'm goin' to get some money before the week is out. An' I'll
turn it over to you. An' Saturday night we'll go to the show--a real
show, no movin' pictures. Harvey's nigger minstrels is comin' to town.
We'll go Saturday night. I'll have the money before that, as sure as
beans is beans."

Friday evening he did not come home to supper, which Saxon regretted,
for Maggie Donahue had returned a pan of potatoes and two quarts of
flour (borrowed the week before), and it was a hearty meal that awaited
him. Saxon kept the stove going till nine o'clock, when, despite her
reluctance, she went to bed. Her preference would have been to wait up,
but she did not dare, knowing full well what the effect would be on him
did he come home in liquor.

The clock had just struck one, when she heard the click of the gate.
Slowly, heavily, ominously, she heard him come up the steps and fumble
with his key at the door. He entered the bedroom, and she heard him
sigh as he sat down. She remained quiet, for she had learned the
hypersensitiveness induced by drink and was fastidiously careful not to
hurt him even with the knowledge that she had lain awake for him. It was
not easy. Her hands were clenched till the nails dented the palms, and
her body was rigid in her passionate effort for control. Never had he
come home as bad as this.

"Saxon," he called thickly. "Saxon."

She stired and yawned.

"What is it?" she asked.

"Won't you strike a light? My fingers is all thumbs."

Without looking at him, she complied; but so violent was the nervous
trembling of her hands that the glass chimney tinkled against the globe
and the match went out.

"I ain't drunk, Saxon," he said in the darkness, a hint of amusement in
his thick voice. "I've only had two or three jolts ... of that sort."

On her second attempt with the lamp she succeeded. When she turned to
look at him she screamed with fright. Though she had heard his voice
and knew him to be Billy, for the instant she did not recognize him. His
face was a face she had never