at morning, having then for
the first time heard of the arrival at the cabin, she came hurrying
across the slope with the baby on her hip. Long abstinence had made keen
that temper of hers, and here was a situation where virtue itself cried
to arms. She was eager to give Creed Bonbright a piece of her mind.

"You cain't go in unless'n you'll promise to be plumb quiet--not to open
yo' mouth," Judith told her sharply. "Uncle Jep ain't here right now--but
that's what he said."

"Don't Bonbright know folks? Cain't a body talk to him? Is he plumb outen
his head?" demanded Iley, somewhat taken aback.

"He knew some of us a while ago," admitted Judith, "but mostly he doesn't
notice nothing--jest stares right in front of him, and Uncle Jep said we
mustn't let him be talked to nor werried."

The big red-headed woman, considerably lowered in note, stepped inside
the door of the sick-room, hushing the child in her arms. A moment she
stood staring at the bed and its single occupant, at the pale face on the
pillow, then she burst suddenly into tempestuous sobs and fled.

Judith followed her out.

"What's the matter, Iley? You never set much store by Creed
Bonbright--what you cryin' about?" she asked.

"Hit's--Huldy," choked the sister. "I reckon you thort I talked mighty
big about the business the last time you an' me had speech consarnin'
hit; but the facts air that I don't know a thing about whar she's at, nor
how she's doin'. Judy, ef yo' a-goin' to take keer o' the man, cain't ye
please ax him for me when did he see Huldy last, an'--an' is they
wedded?"

Judith assented. She knew what her uncle would think of such an inquiry
being put to the sick man, yet her own heart so fiercely demanded
knowledge on this point that she promised Iley she would ask the question
as soon as she dared.

The week that followed was a strange one to active Judith Barrier, used
to out-door life under the sky for such a large part of her days. Now
those same days were bounded by the four walls of a sick-room, the sole
matter of importance in them whether the invalid took his gruel well,
whether he had seemed better, whether her uncle spoke encouragingly of
the eventful outcome of this illness. Old Jephthah himself nursed Creed,
and Judith was but a helper; yet, such was her torture of uncertainty, of
anxiety, that she often left to go to her own room and get some sleep,
only to return and beg that she might be allowed to sit outside the
thre