him.

Just then, outside the window, a bird flew past, peeped in, fluttered
away, singing.

"Seems like it might be the soul of Philander," Peneluna said--she was
crying as the old do, hardly realizing that they are crying. Her tears
fell unheeded and Mary-Clare was crying with her, but conscious of
every hurting tear.

"In honour bound, though it breaks the heart of me, I'm going to
speak, Mary-Clare, then his poor soul can rest in peace.

"The Methodist parson, what comes teetering 'round just so often,
always thought Philander was hell-bound, Mary-Clare; well, since there
ain't anyone but that parson as knows so much about hell, to send for,
I've sent for him and there's no knowing what he won't feel called
upon to say with Philander lying helpless for a text. So now, after I
tell you what must be told, I want that you should read the burial
service over Philander and then that parson can do his worst--my ears
will be deaf to him and Philander can't hear."

There was a heavy pause while Mary-Clare waited.

"Hell don't scare me nohow," Peneluna went on; "seems like the most
interesting folks is headed for it and I'll take good company every
time to what some church folks hands out. And, too, hell can't be half
bad if you have them you love with you. So the parson can do his
worst. Philander and me won't mind now.

"Back of the time we came here"--Peneluna was picking her words as a
child does its blocks, carefully in order to form the right word--"me
and Philander was promised."

Drifting about in Mary-Clare's thought a scrap of old scandal stirred,
but it had little to feed on and passed.

"Then a woman got mixed up 'twixt him and me. In her young days she'd
been French and you know yer can't get away from what's born in the
blood, and the Frenchiness was terrible onsettling. Philander was
side-twisted. Yer see, Mary-Clare, when a man ain't had nothing but
work and working folks in his life, a creature that laughs and dances
and sings gets like whiskey in the head, and Philander didn't
rightfully know what he was about."

Peneluna drew the end of her crepe veil up and wiped her eyes.

"They went off together, him and the furriner. Least, the furriner
took him off, and the next thing I heard she'd taken to her heels and
Philander drifted here to the mines. I knew he needed me more than
ever--he was a dreadful creature about doing for himself, not eating
at Christian hours, just waiting till he keeled ove