Drolien" and the heart-shattering lament for Gerald. She
prayed all night outside his door when he had a brief fever. When
trouble was coming, she said the "snake's bells" told her, talking
loudly; and petty incidents confirmed her so far that, after she found
the child's room ablaze from one of Rawling's cigarettes, they did not
argue, and grew to share half-way her superstition.

Women were scarce in the valley, and the well-fed, well-paid men needed
wives; and, as time went on, Honora Killelia was sought in marriage by
tall Scots and Swedes, who sat dumbly passionate on the back veranda,
where she mended Sanford's clothes. Even hawk-nosed Jim Varian, nearing
sixty, made cautious proposals, using Bill as messenger, when Sanford
was nine.

"God spare us from purgatory!" she shouted. "Me to sew for the eight of
you? Even in the fine house his honor did be givin' the agent I could
not stand the noise of it. An' who'd be mendin' Master San's clothes? Be
out of this kitchen, Bill Varian!"

Rawling, suffocated with laughter, reeled out of the pantry and fled to
his pretty wife.

"She thinks San's her own kid!" he gasped.

"She's perfectly priceless. I wish she'd be as careful of Margot and
Pete. I wish we could lure her to New York. She's worth twenty city
servants."

"Her theory is that if she stays here there's some one to see that Pat
Sheehan doesn't neglect--what does she call San's pony?" Rawling asked.

"The little horse. Yes, she told me she'd trample the face off Pat if
Shelty came to harm. She keeps the house like silver, too; and it's
heavenly to find the curtains put up when we get here. Heavens! listen!"

They were in Rawling's bedroom, and Onnie came up the curved stairs.
Even in list house-slippers she moved like an elephant, and Sanford had
called her, so the speed of her approach shook the square upper hall,
and the door jarred a little way open with the impact of her feet.

"Onnie, I'm not sleepy. Sing Gerald," he commanded.

"I will do that same if you'll be lyin' down still, Master San. Now,
this is what Conia sang when she found her son all dead forever in the
sands of the west water."

By the sound Onnie sat near the bed crooning steadily, her soft
contralto filling both stories of the happy house. Rawling went across
the hall to see, and stood in the boy's door. He loved Sanford as
imaginative men can who are still young, and the ugly girl's idolatry
seemed natural. Yet this was very charm