his solicitude
merely nettled Sarah. Nobody had ever "carried on" over her when she had
had her nine.

"Have you said anything sharp to her to-day, mother?" he inquired
suspiciously, after a minute.

"You know I ain't, Abel. She left a dirty glass in the dairy an' I never
so much as mentioned it. Did Mr. Mullen complain of her leavin' off
mission work?"

"Why, of course not. He talked to us only a few minutes and he seemed
absent-minded. He's had a good call somewhere in the North, and he told
us that he had prayed over it unceasingly and he believed that the Lord
was directing him to larger fields."

"Did Judy hear that?"

"Yes, he told us both."

Sarah was stirring the gruel, and she appeared so absorbed in her task
that the remark she let fall a minute later bore presumably no relation
to the conversation.

"I sometimes think men ain't got any mo' sense than an unborn babe!" she
observed.

Taking the cup from her hands, Abel went up the little staircase to the
bedroom, where Judy stood before the bureau, with a long black-headed
hat pin in her hand. She had evidently not begun to undress, for her hat
was still on her head, and under the heavy shadow of the brim her eyes
looked back at her husband with an accusing and hostile expression.

"Drink this, Judy, while it is hot," he said kindly, placing the cup on
the bureau.

"I don't want it," she answered, and her voice sounded as if she were
ready to burst again into tears.

"Are you sick?"

"No."

"I'm going to sleep in the attic. Call me if you want anything."

Without replying she took off her hat and placed it on the top shelf
in the wardrobe. Had he beaten her she felt that she could almost have
loved him, but the primitive sex instinct in her was outraged by his
gentleness.

"Has anybody hurt your feelings?" asked Abel, turning suddenly on his
way to the door.

"No."

"Then, for God's sake, what is it?" he demanded, at his wit's end. "You
look as if you'd lost the last friend you had on earth."

At this she broke into hard dry sobs which rattled in her throat before
they escaped. A spasm of self-pity worked convulsively in her bosom,
and, turning away, she buried her face in her arms, while the long,
agonized tremors shook her slender figure. Looking at her, he remembered
bitterly that he had married Judy in order to make her happy. By the
sacrifice of his own inclinations he had achieved this disastrous
result. If he had tried to do e