everything on my shoulders. After sending this girl to me to take
care of, too! (She plucks her shawl vexedly over her ears.) It's
sinful, so it is; downright sinful.

CHRISTY (with a slow, bovine cheerfulness, after a pause). I
think it's going to be a fine morning, after all.

MRS. DUDGEON (railing at him). A fine morning! And your father
newly dead! Where's your feelings, child?

CHRISTY (obstinately). Well, I didn't mean any harm. I suppose a
man may make a remark about the weather even if his father's
dead.

MRS. DUDGEON (bitterly). A nice comfort my children are to me!
One son a fool, and the other a lost sinner that's left his home
to live with smugglers and gypsies and villains, the scum of the
earth!

Someone knocks.

CHRISTY (without moving). That's the minister.

MRS. DUDGEON (sharply). Well, aren't you going to let Mr.
Anderson in?

Christy goes sheepishly to the door. Mrs. Dudgeon buries her face
in her hands, as it is her duty as a widow to be overcome with
grief. Christy opens the door, and admits the minister,
Anthony Anderson, a shrewd, genial, ready Presbyterian divine