ed. "And have him see the
undertaker, too, please."

CHAPTER XLI

Martha Jane Eperson alighted from her brother's buggy before the gate at
the Whaley farm-house. Mrs. Whaley came out and met her.

"I got your message," the visitor said, "and came in as quickly as I
could. I had heard of John's death, and, as it is all over the country,
I knew that Tilly had already heard it or had to be told."

"Yes, she knows," Mrs. Whaley sighed, resignedly. "Her father came in
and let it out awfully rough-like. I hold that against him, so I do. He
showed her the paper that it was in and told her that, although the
court had dissolved the marriage tie, God had made the separation doubly
sure. Tilly sat sorter dead-like for a long time. That was yesterday
evening about sundown. I tried to comfort her, but she shudders and
screams when me or her pa comes near her. This morning the doctor came
to see her. I sent for him. He said she had to have a change. He was mad
at her pa, and they had sharp words at the gate. The doctor said she
simply must not stay here with us for a while--that it would drive her
out of her senses or kill her."

"So you sent for me?" Martha Jane faltered.

"Yes, because you are the only one she talks about wanting to see. She
loves you, and intimated that she would like to go out to your house for
a few days. I am sure it will do her good, and I thought maybe you
wouldn't mind--"

"Oh, I should love it above all things!" The girl grasped Mrs. Whaley's
hands and wrung them eagerly. "I have the buggy. I could take her right
back with me."

"Then you ought to do it while her pa is away," Mrs. Whaley said, her
beetling brows lowered. "He is in the country to-day. If he was here he
might raise a row, but he won't be apt to object when it is already
done. I think she ought to go. I hate to say it, but this is no place
for her right now. I'm afraid sometimes that her pa's got some trouble
of the brain. 'Softening,' some call it. He is not like he was. He wakes
up in the dead of night and comes stumbling over things to my bed to
talk all this over, and he would go to Tilly's bed, too, if I'd let him.
He is even suspicious of me--says I dispute his Bible views behind his
back, or when he is expounding them to somebody before me. But I don't.
I'm sick and tired of it all. I am coming to see that he is wrong,
because religion is intended to help, not ruin folks, and between you
and me, Martha Jane, every bit