ything if I wrote him?" I asked.

"Mr. Evans? What can 'e do? T' cottage isn't his. Law's law, an'
Barjona has t' law on his side. Ye can't fight agen law. Ted 'll have
to shift. It's a pity, but it's no killin' matter, an' 'e'll get over
it i' time."

"Not if he's rooted to the soil," I said; "old plants often die when
transplanted."

"Now look 'ere, Miss 'Olden," he replied kindly; "don't you take on
over this job. You're too fond o' suppin' sorrow. We all 'ave our own
crosses to carry, an' it's right 'at we should 'elp to carry other
folkses. But it's no use carryin' theirs unless you can lighten t'
load for 'em. Frettin' for owd Ted 'll none make it any easier for
'im. You want to learn 'ow to be sorry i' reason, without frettin'
yourself to death. Why aren't ye sorry for Barjona?"

"The miserable old fox!" I exclaimed.

"I dunno but what he's more to be pitied nor Ted," replied Reuben
thoughtfully. "Now you just study a minute. Don't ye think the Lord
'll be more sorry to see Barjona's 'eart shrivelled up like a dried
pig-skin, so as it can't beat like other people's, nor what 'E will for
Ted, what's as 'armless as a baby? If I read t' Owd Book right 'E
allus seemed t' sorriest for them 'at were t' worst. 'E wept over
Lazarus, I know, but 'E didn't fret about him an' his sisters in t'
same way as 'E fret over t' city when 'E wept over it. You see,
Lazarus 'adn't gone wrong, an' t' city had. Lazarus an' t' girls had
suffered i' their bodies an' their minds, same as we all 'ave to do,
an' same as Ted is doin', but t' city 'at rejected 'Im was sufferin' in
its soul.

"No, I pity Ted, but I pity Barjona more. It's t' sick 'at need t'
physician, as t' Owd Book says, an' Barjona's got t' fatal disease o'
greed an' selfishness an' covetousness an' 'ard-'eartedness, wi' all
sorts o' complications, an' it doesn't make me pity 'im any less 'at 'e
doesn't know 'at 'e ails ought. You never found the Lord ought but
kind to them 'at 'E drave t' devils out of. Now you think it over, an'
keep your sperrits up."

I have thought it over. Just now, perhaps, I am not in the mood to
view the case philosophically. My own feelings reflect the mood of the
village generally. I don't doubt Barjona's sickness, but my
prescription would be a drastic one, and whipping with scorpions would
be too good for him. There are some people whom kindness does not
cure, and I imagine Barjona to be one of them.

I would