e chin, a sunburned nose, kindly blue
eyes forever opened in mild wonder (and a bit bleared by the wind),
the fat figure clad in broadly checked tweed knickerbockers and a
rakish cap to match, like the mad tourists who sometimes strayed our
way. 'Twas this complacent, benevolent Deity that she made haste to
interrogate in my behalf, unabashed by the spats and binocular, the
corpulent plaid stockings and cigar, which completed his attire. She
spread her feet, in the way she had at such times; and she shut her
eyes, and she set her teeth, and she clinched her hands, and thus
silently began to wrestle for the answer, her face all screwed, as by
a taste of lemon.[4]

Presently my patience was worn.

"What news?" I inquired.

"Hist!" she whispered. "He's lookin' at me through His glasses."

I waited an interval.

"What now, Judy?"

"Hist!" says she. "He's wonderful busy makin' up His mind. Leave Un
be, Dannie!"

'Twas trying, indeed! I craved the kiss. Nor by watching the child's
puckered face could I win a hint to ease the suspense that rode me.
Upon the will of Judith's Lord God Almighty in tweed knickerbockers
surely depended the disposition of the maid. I wished He would make
haste to answer.

"Judy, maid," I implored, "will He never have done?"

"You'll be makin' Un mad, Dannie," she warned.

"I can wait no longer."

"He's scowlin'."

I wished I had not interrupted.

"I 'low," she reported, "He'll shake His head in a minute."

'Twas a tender way to break ill news.

"Ay," she sighed, opening her eyes. "He've gone an' done it. I knowed
it. He've said I hadn't better not. I'm wonderful sorry you've t' lack
the kiss, Dannie. I'm wonderful sorry, Dannie," she repeated, in a
little quiver of pity, "for _you_!"

She was pitiful: there's no forgetting that compassion, its tearful
concern and wistfulness. I was bewildered. More wishful beseeching
must surely have softened a Deity with a sunburned nose and a double
chin! Indeed, I was bewildered by this fantasy of weeping and
nonsense. For the little break in her voice and the veil of tears upon
her eyes I cannot account. 'Twas the way she had as a maid: and
concerning this I have found it folly to speculate. Of the boundaries
of sincerity and pretence within her heart I have no knowledge. There
was no pretence (I think); 'twas all reality--the feigning and the
feeling--for Judith walked in a confusion of the truths of life with
visions. There came a time--