ssion moved on once more along the narrow path.

"Well enough," said Basil; "we uns hev got a sufficiency." Then, as if
afraid of seeming boastful he qualified, "Ye know I hain't got but one
muel ter feed, an' the cow thar. My sheep gits thar pastur' on the
volunteer grass 'mongst the rocks, an' I hev jes' got a few head
ennyhows."

"But _why_ hain't ye got more, Basil? Whyn't ye work more and quit
wastin' yer time on that old fool fiddle?"

The limits of patience were reached. The musician fired up. "'Kase," he
retorted, "I make enough. I hev got grace enough ter be thankful fur
sech ez be vouchsafed ter me. _I_ ain't wantin' no meracle."

Kennedy flushed, following in silence while the musician annotated his
triumph by a series of gay little harmonics, and young Hopeful, trudging
in the rear, executed a soundless fantasia on the cornstalk fiddle with
great brilliancy of technique.

"You uns air talkin' 'bout whut I said at the meetin' las' month,"
Kennedy observed at length.

"An' so be all the mounting," Aurelia interpolated with a sudden fierce
joy of reproof.

Kennedy winced visibly.

"The folks all 'low ez ye be no better than an onbeliever." Aurelia was
bent on driving the blade home. "The idee of axin' fur a meracle at this
late day,--so ez _ye_ kin be satisfied in yer mind ez ye hev got grace!
Providence, though merciful, air _obleeged_, ter know ez sech air plumb
scandalous an' redic'lous."

"Why, Aurely, hesh up," exclaimed her husband, startled from his wonted
leniency. "I hev never hearn ye talk in sech a key,--yer voice sounds
plumb out o' tune. I be plumb sorry, Jube, ez I spoke ter you uns 'bout
a meracle at all. But I war consider'ble nettled by yer words, ye
see,--'kase I know I be a powerful, lazy, shif'less cuss----"

"Ye know a lie, then," his helpmate interrupted promptly.

"Why, Aurely, hesh up,--ye--ye--_woman_, ye!" he concluded injuriously.
Then resuming his remarks to Kennedy, "I know I _do_ fool away a deal of
my time with the fiddle----"

"The sound of it is like bread ter me,--I couldn't live without it,"
interposed the unconquered Aurelia. "Sometimes it minds me o' the
singin' o' runnin' water in a lonesome place. Then agin it minds me o'
seein' sunshine in a dream. An' sometimes it be sweet an' high an' fur
off, like a voice from the sky, tellin' what no mortial ever knowed
before,--an' _then_ it minds me o' the tune them angels sung ter the
shepherds abidin' in the fields.