but you. Our pooty, pooty Min! she be dyin' there
before our eyes, and we-uns can't do nothin'. Take the ban off, an' I'll
work for you the longest day I live."

Tina dragged herself away and shut the door heavily.

* * * * *

Religion was in the field scattering pine straw, and Beck was there
too, harnessed in company with a very lean Texas pony. Her mother and
Bud were in the same occupation, but Mollie, the old brown cow, drew
their wagon.

Religion was crooning a solemn old ditty, as she always did when alone
and thinking.

"I just made up my mind this mornin' that I'd got to do sumpin when Mr.
Frye come for we-uns to scatter this straw. An' I wish I knowed what to
do. Oh, Lord, don't I wish I knowed what to do. There's Min been down on
that air bed one whole year come Christmas, and nobody can't say what is
the matter with her. Sich a heap o' calomel, and quinine, and
turpentine, and doctor's stuff as she has took, and 'tain't done no
good. I can't count the times I been to the tavern. I know I brung off
more'n two gallons of the best whiskey, an' it's been mixed up with
pine-top, an' snakeroot, an' mullein, an' I dun'no' what all, an' none
of it 'ain't done no good. An' Min is dyin' just as fast as she can die.
Oh, Lord!"

A fine mule, drawing a light road-cart, trotted past. The driver was a
short, squat man, his face almost hidden in hair. It was Dr. Buzzard. He
was known for miles as a successful "conjurer" and giver of "hands."
Most of the people around had perfect faith in his cures and
revelations, and had advised Religion to try him, but the girl objected,
vaguely questioning reason and conscience, and Min was getting worse. It
was despair, not belief, which made her whisper to herself, "I'm goin'
to see him this very night."

"Great day! 'ain't we-uns had trouble! Lord, Lord! I b'lieve one-half
this wurl' has all the trouble fur all the rest, anyhow!"

Religion was on her way, and thinking over the family record as she
walked. The sun had set, the cotton-pickers were in, and odors of supper
were afloat. Religion was eating hers as she walked and thought--it was
a finely browned ash-cake, richly flavored with the cabbage leaves in
which it was baked.

The Beckets had always been very poor, hard-working people, without any
especial grace or finer touch of nature about them. The two brothers had
married two sisters, and such marriages were considered unlucky.

When