[Illustration: Nancy stood staring at her, with words beyond saying in
her heart--words that rose in her throat and choked her]

"To pray, I reckon."

He sat down at the table-leaf lifted from the wall, and his sister served
him his breakfast. He ate greedily, but his hand trembled so in lifting
his cup that the coffee spilled from it.

When he had ended and sat leaning back from the board, she asked him:
"What are you going to do?"

The old man cleared his throat. "Nothing, yet. Let the Lord work His will."

"And let Joseph Dylks work _his_ will, too! I'll have something to
say about that."

"Be careful, woman. Be careful."

"Oh, I'll be careful. He has as much to lose as I have."

"No, not half so much."



VIII


Where Matthew Braile sat smoking most of the hot forenoon away on the
porch of his cabin, there came to him rumor of the swift spread of the