ind threshing the trees above, screaming
from cliff to cliff. There were lights at Judith's: 'twas straightway
in our minds to ask a cup of tea in her kitchen; but when we came
near the door 'twas to the discovery of company moving in and out.

There were women in the kitchen.

"'Tis Judith's mother, Dannie," Aunt Esther All whispered. "'Tis on'y
she. 'Tis on'y Elizabeth."

We had found her on the hills that morning.

"She've come t' die all of a suddent. 'Tis another of her spells. Oh,
Lord! she've come t' die."

There was no solemnity in this outer room.

"She've woful need o' salvation," Aunt Esther pattered. "She's doomed,
lad, an she doesn't repent. Parson Stump ought t' be fetched t' work
on she."

There was grief--somewhere there was grief. I heard a sob; it came
from a child's breast. And there followed, then, some strange,
rambling words of comfort in Elizabeth's voice--a plea, it was, to
never mind. Again a sob--Judith's grief.

"'Tis Judith," Aunt Esther sighed. "She've gone an' give way."

The child's heart would break!

"Mother always 'lowed, Dannie," Moses whispered, "that they ought t'
be a parson handy--when It come."

'Twas beyond the power of the fool to manage: who was now a fool,
indeed--white and shivering in this Presence. I would fetch the
parson, said I--and moved right willingly and in haste upon the
errand. Aunt Esther followed me beyond the threshold. She caught my
arm with such a grasp that I was brought up in surprise. We stood in
the wind and rain. The light from the kitchen fell through the doorway
into the black night. Aunt Esther's lean, brown face, as the lamp
betrayed, was working with eager and shameless curiosity. They had
wondered, these women of Whisper Cove, overlong and without patience,
to know what they wished to know but could not discover. "She've been
wantin' Skipper Nicholas," says she. "She've been callin' for Skipper
Nicholas. She've been singin' out, Dannie, like a wretch in tarture.
Tell un t' come. She've been wantin' un sore. She've a thing on her
mind. Tell un not t' fail. 'Tis something she've t' tell un. 'I wants
Skipper Nicholas!' says she. 'Fetch Nicholas! I wants a word with he
afore I die.' Hist!" Aunt Esther added, as though imparting some
delight, "I 'low 'tis the secret."

I asked her concerning this secret.

"It haves t' do," says she, "with Judith."

"An' what's that?"

She whispered.

"For shame!" I cried.

"Ay, but," says she, "yo