"Wait. No, not that, but because we are more of a kind in a way--we both have an object. I am going to pay a man. That's the reason I dig in the hot sun." "Are you so honest?" "No, I'm worse than a thief. Don't go--just one moment, please. Sometime I may tell you. They think I like to work, but I hate it. In my thoughts I have committed a thousand murders with my hoe. Let me ask you a question, one laborer of another. Do you like me?" "Very much," she answered, looking at him steadily. "I thank the Lord for that much. We might help each other to--" "No, our battles are apart." "Oh, I didn't mean that. I mean we can help each other spiritually. Don't you think so?" "We can all help one another spiritually," she said. "May I go now?" she asked, smiling. "I wish I could keep you from going. Wait. I can't understand that you have labored in a field. You are the most graceful woman I ever saw--the most perfect lady couldn't discount you. You've got good blood. I believe in blood." "I am of a good family," she said. "My father was once a man of some importance. But the world turned against him. Blood is all that saved me." "I've got one more word to say, now that we are better acquainted. I jumped on a horse once and galloped away from you--out at the little town on the prairie. You don't remember me, but I do you." "Galloped away from me!" she said in surprise. "Why did you do that?" "Because I didn't want to get tangled up. Did you ever see a bigger fool? And when I saw you out here I started off again, but I stopped and said, 'I'll be damned if I do.' Once is enough. May I tell you more?" "No," she said, stepping back. "I have heard enough. And what you tell me may not be true--about galloping away. I don't mean to offend you. But I have been taught to believe--" "That all men are liars," he suggested. She nodded. "They taught you about right," he went on. "Yes, they did. But sometimes the biggest liar may tell the truest truth. They took you out of the field and taught you politeness. I went from a college out into the wilds and there I forgot learning and learned deviltry. Do you know what they used to call me? Hell-in-the-Mud. That was my nickname. Hell-in-the-Mud, think of it! And what saved me, if I am saved? An old woman living on a hillside in Connecticut--my mother--prayed for me and died. It's a fact. I don't know whether there's a God or not, that is, for the average run of us, but there's one for her. Prayed for Hell-in-the-Mud, and her prayer was printed in the village paper, and I got hold of it. Then I said I would pay him--a man. But go on, I'm telling you too much."