ully
odd about all that. I don't know what it is, but it is there."

"I know one thing about John Trott that I didn't know when he was here,"
Whaley pursued, tapping his thumb with the case of his glasses, "and I
tell you if I had known it he would have had to change before he took a
daughter of mine to live under a roof with him. I got it straight that
he's been heard to say that he didn't believe in a God or the Bible, and
that folks were silly fools that did. I heard it this morning and I made
it my business to trace it down. He said it, and I'm here to say that I
don't want to be the granddaddy of the children of an atheist. The wrath
of an offended God would fall on them and on me. Tilly was put in my
care. The Catholics damned the soul of my son when he went over to those
idol-worshipers through the wiles of a present-day Eve, and here I stood
stock-still and let an avowed atheist take away my daughter. Do you
think I'm going to stand it? Man-killing is said to be wrong, but
killing human snakes is not, and a man that will lead an innocent
Christian girl away from the smiles of God deserves death, let the law
of the land be what it may. I've got a good pistol. I've got a steady
finger and a firm arm. I tell you to look out. I don't know what may
happen. Our Lord said Himself that He came not to bring peace, but a
sword, and I'll be at war with atheism against my own flesh and blood
till I die."

"You wouldn't be as foolish as that," Mrs. Whaley faltered, for once
daring to oppose her spouse. "Even if he is an infidel he may get over
it under--under Tilly's influence."

"Get over it, a dog's hind foot!" Whaley sniffed, his great nostrils
fluttering, his harsh face rigid. "No wife ever does. They go with their
husbands and so do the children, and children's children, all the way
down, if the flow of hell's poison is not stopped, and I'll stop it."

On the day that dialogue was taking place Sam Cavanaugh was seated by
the bedside of his wife. "Yes, I went by there," he was saying. "John
had bought some fine peaches from a mountain wagon and wanted Tilly to
have them to put up in jars. She was out in the little yard. I saw her
clean across the old circus-grounds. She was walking back and forth, and
I'll admit she looked lonely. You were right about what you said that
time. I begin to see my mistake. As awkward as it would have been, maybe
I ought to have had a straight talk with John, if nobody else. It looks
to m