there was a dry tightness in his throat
which made him doubt his command of utterance. His only response was the
dumb clasping of her hand, and to it he clung, unconscious of what the
act implied, as a proof of weakness.

"I knew you had got back," she went on, her face uplifted, her friendly
fingers tightening on his. "That old mischief-maker told me. I didn't
come out here after the cow. That was just a dodge to keep anybody from
talking about me being away from home after dark. I had to see you. I
knew you needed a friend, and I'm one, Alfred--I'd sacrifice anything on
earth to help you. You've been a true friend to me, and I want to be to
you. I know all that happened back there."

"You say you do?"

"Yes, Mr. Wrinkle come and told me. He was laughing, but he let up, for
I opened his eyes. He hasn't had such a tongue-lashing since he was
born. The fool, the fool--the silly fool! You mustn't mind, Alfred. You
really mustn't."

"Mind?" he muttered. "My God!"

"Oh, I know!" she went on, still soothingly. "It is awful looked at from
_your_ standpoint, but that ain't the thing. We must consider the
intentions of folks before we take offence. Why, Alfred, that old
busybody hasn't yet got it through his head that any living man could
object to a joke like that. Nothing under high heaven was ever sacred to
him; you must have noticed that in the time you have known him. He'd
make a jest out of the death of his closest kin. He told me once that to
think anything was wrong in this world would be to deny God's goodness
to mankind. When I told him just now that he had overstepped the bounds
of reason and good sense in what he done, he simply wouldn't believe it.
He said you knew how to give a joke and take one, and that he liked you
better than any living man. The Allens are going to leave soon. Alfred,
you mustn't go 'way like this--you just mustn't."

"There's nothing else to do."

"Oh yes, there is." She laid her hand on his arm, and gazed persuasively
into his eyes. "You've got your duty to perform--your duty to your wife,
Alfred."

"Huh, to her!" he sniffed.

"Yes, to _her_," Dixie went on, simply and yet eagerly. "I'm sorry for
her, Alfred. To most folks she seems peculiar, and yet God made her that
way just as He made you and me like we are, and, moreover, she can't
help being like she is. You told me once that you didn't think she had
ever quite got over her love for her first husband, but that you counted
on