s dead to him an' to God. Say, he knew all about
God's wishes--that man. Gosh! He has sent more folks to hell than there
are in it, I guess. Say, mister, do ye know why he sent her there?"

I shook my head.

"Yis ye do, too. It's the same ol' thing that's been sendin' women to
hell ever since the world begun. Ye know hell must 'a' been the
invention of a man--that's sartin--an' it was mostly fer women an'
children--that's sartiner--an' fer all the men that didn't agree with
him. Set down here an' I'll tell ye the hull story. My day's work is
done."

We sat down together and he went on as follows:

"Did ye ever see Kate Fullerton?"

"Yes."

"No ye didn't, nuther. Yer too young. Mebbe ye seen her when she was old
an' broke down but that wa'n't Kate--no more'n I'm Bill Tweedy, which I
ain't. Kate was as handsome as a golden robin. Hair yeller as his breast
an' feet as spry as his wings an' a voice as sweet as his song, an' eyes
as bright as his'n--yis, sir--ye couldn't beat her fer looks. That was
years and years ago. Her mother died when Kate was ten year old--there's
her grave in there with the sickle an' the sheaf an' the portry on it.
That was unfort'nit an' no mistake. Course the squire married ag'in but
the new wife wa'n't no kind of a mother to the girl an' you know,
mister, there was a young scoundrel here by the name o' Grimshaw. His
father was a rich man--owned the cooper shop an' the saw-mill an' the
tannery an' a lot o' cleared land down in the valley. He kep' comp'ny
with her fer two or three year. Then all of a sudden folks began to
talk--the women in partic'lar. Ye know men invented hell an' women keep
up the fire. Kate didn't look right to 'em. Fust we knew, young Grimshaw
had dropped her an' was keepin' comp'ny with another gal--yis, sir. Do
ye know why?"

Before I could answer he went on:

"No ye don't--leastways I don't believe ye do. It was 'cause her father
was richer'n the squire an' had promised his gal ten thousan' dollars
the day she was married. All of a sudden Kate disappeared. We didn't
know what had happened fer a long time."

"One day the ol' squire got me to dig this grave an' put up the headstun
an' then he tol' me the story. He'd turned the poor gal out o' doors.
God o' Israel! It was in the night--yis, sir--it was in the night that
he sent her away. Goldarn him! He didn't have no more heart than a
grasshopper--no sir--not a bit. I could 'a' brained him with my shovel,
but I did