"Wimmin _is_ curi's," began Gran'fer, when we had arranged ourselves comfortably. He twirled his stubby, funny looking thumbs contentedly and leisurely. The end of each was overhung with a remarkable length of nail, black and thick. "I s'pose they's nec'sary ur th' Lord wouldn't 'a' put 'em here, but it's a plum' fac' they's no read'n' 'em, 'n' no tell'n' whut they gunta do. S'firy 'n' me, come November twinty-fust, nex', hev ben married forty-two year. Right there in Hebrin wuz we married, forty-two year ago come November twinty-fust, nex'. At th' Cath'lic chu'ch on th' hill, th' same whut's now Father John's. He wuzn't here them days. 'Nother pries' married us. S'firy's a Cath'lic 'n' I wus n't nothin', but I wuz bornd o' Prot'st'nt parints. 'N' I made th' fust mistake right there. Onless two people hev th' same b'lief, they oughtn't to jine in wedlock, 'cus trouble's comin' shore 's sin." He took off his worn, soiled, and shapeless straw hat to scratch his head. "I suspect you are entirely right about that. I know of a number of unhappy marriages for that reason." Gran'fer grunted, twice. "S'firy's a buxom gal, ez th' sayin' goes," he continued, reminiscently. "Purties' gal hereabout she wuz, ef I do say it, but they's allus fire on her tongue. Jes' lak a patch o' powder her min' wuz, 'n' th' leas' thin' 'd set it off. 'Tain't in th' natur o' young people to look ahead, ur I never 'd 'a' tried life with S'firy. A young feller in love is th' out 'n' out damndes' fool on airth. I'se sich.... I couldn't stan' ag'in 'er." He shook his head slowly, and fell to combing his straggling fringe of whiskers with his bent fingers. I did not reply. I was not much interested in the old man's recital. I had guessed already practically all that he was telling me. My mind was full of other things; my thoughts were back on the Hebron road, following the footsteps of the girl with the jug.