elled me that if He hadn't been a
sufferin' and a sufferin', and hadn't loved everybody well enough, God
wouldn't have let Him ruz. 'Twa'n't by anything He did after He were
dead that brought Him standin' up again."

"Then who did it?" queried Flea.

"God did--jest as how He said 'way back there when there wasn't any
world, 'World, come out!' and the world came. He said, 'Jesus, stand
up!' and Jesus stood up. That's as easy as rollin' off a log, Flea."

She had heard Ann explain it, too; but it seemed easier when Flukey
interpreted it.

"If I could see and speak to Him once," she mourned, "I could make
Sister Ann glad by tellin' her that I knowed He'd answer me."

"Ask Him to let ye see Himself," advised Flukey, "He'll do it, I bet!
Will ye, Flea?"

"Nope! I'd be 'fraid if He came and stood near me. I'm 'fraid even now
when I think of Him; but 'cause I can't believe 'tain't no reason why
you can't, Fluke."

She turned her head toward the door and listened.

"Brother Horace ain't like Sister Ann," she whispered.

"Nobody ain't like her, Flea. She's the best ever!"

"Yep, so she is. But I wish as how--" She paused, and a burning blush
spread over her face. "I wish as how Brother Horace had Sister Ann's way
of talking to me. I could--"

"Brother Horace ain't nothin' to do with yer believin', Flea."

"Yep, he has, and when he says as how he believes like Miss Shellington,
then I'll believe, too. See?"

Then Flea fell into a stubborn silence.

One afternoon in December, Ann and Horace sat conversing in the library.

"I don't see how Mrs. Vandecar can refuse to help you get that child
into school, Ann."

"I don't believe she will; but Everett thinks she ought."

"Everett's getting some queer notions lately," Horace said reluctantly.

Ann's heart ached dully--the happiness she had had in her lover had
diminished of late. Constantly unpleasant words passed between them on
subjects of so little importance that Ann wondered, when she was alone,
why they should have been said at all. Several times Brimbecomb had
refused to further his acquaintance with the twins.

"I only wish he would like those poor children," said she. "I care so
little what our other friends think!"

Shellington pondered a moment. He reflected on Flea's beseeching face as
she pleaded for Flukey, and he decided that the censure of all his
acquaintances could not take his protection from her.

"No, I don't care for the opinion of any of