ain't no man but you ever even
been decent ter me. I sure ain't got nobody else--"

The distraught creature's sobs prevented further speech, and she dropped
down on the ground, weak and exhausted; her poor twisted body shaking
and writhing with the emotion she could not voice.

For a little while, Brian Kent himself was as helpless as Judy. He could
only stand dumbly, staring at her as she crouched at his feet. Then,
very gently, he lifted her from the ground, and tried as best he could
to comfort her. But he felt his words to be very shallow and inadequate,
even though his own voice was trembling with emotion.

"Come, Judy, dear," he said, at last, when she seemed to have in a
measure regained her self-control. "Come. You must go back to the house,
child."

Drawing away from his supporting arm, she answered, quietly: "I ain't
no child, no more, Mr. Burns: I'm sure a woman, now. I'm just as much a
woman as--as--she is, if I be like what I am. I'm plumb sorry I had ter
do this; but I just naturally couldn't help hit. You ain't got no call
ter be scared I'll do hit again."

When they were nearing the house, Judy stopped again, and, for a long
minute, looked silently out over the moonlit river, while Brian stood
watching her.

"Hit is pretty, ain't hit, Mr. Burns?" she said at last. "With the hills
all so soft an'--an' dreamy-like, an' them clouds a-floatin' 'way up
there over the top of Table Mountain; with the moon makin' 'em all
silvery an' shiny 'round the edges, an' them trees on yon side the river
lookin' like they was made er smoke er fog er somethin' like that; an'
the old river hitself a-layin' there in The Bend like--like a long strip
of shinin' gold,--hit sure is pretty! Funny, I couldn't never see hit
that a-way before,--ain't hit?"

"Yes, Judy; it is beautiful to-night," he said.

But Judy, apparently without hearing him, continued: "'Seems like I can
sense a little ter-night what Auntie Sue an' youuns are allus a-talkin'
'bout the river,--'bout hit's bein' like life an' sich as that. An' hit
'pears like I kin kind of git a little er what you done wrote 'bout hit
in your book,--'bout the currents an' the still places an' the rough
water an' all. I reckon as how I'm a part of your river, too, ain't I,
Mr. Burns?"

"Yes, Judy," he answered, wonderingly; "we are all parts of the river."

"I reckon you're right," she continued. "Hit sure 'pears ter be that
a-way. But I kin tell you-all somethin' else '