"There isn’t anything, except what I said just now about our natural laws, Jane," he said, as he stood shading his eyes from the glare of the sun. "Sometimes I think that nobody hain’t to blame for nothing they do, and that all of this temporary muddle is just the different ways human beings have of struggling on to a better world beyond this." "I thought maybe you might, in so many words, say plain out that you’d forgive me, Joe." She had turned her face towards the road she was to travel, and her once harsh lip was quivering like that of a weeping child. "The natural law would come in there, too," Boyd sighed. "Forgiveness, of the right sort, don’t spring to the heart in such a case as this like a flash of powder in the pan. If I’m to forgive, I will in due time, I reckon; but right now, Jane, I feel too weak and tired, even for that—too weak and heartsick and undone." "Well, I’m going to pray for it, Joe," she said, as she started away. "Good-bye. May the Lord above bless you." "Good-bye, Jane; do the best you can," he said, "and I’ll try to do the same." XXXIX The following Sunday afternoon Mrs. Waycroft hastened over to Ann Boyd’s. She walked very rapidly across the fields and through the woods rather than by the longer main road. She found Ann in her best dress seated in her dining-room reading Luke King’s paper, which had come the day before. She looked up and smiled and nodded to the visitor. "I just wish you’d listen to this," she said, enthusiastically. "And when you’ve heard it, if you don’t think that boy is a genius you’ll miss it by a big jump. On my word, such editorials as this will do more good than all the preaching in Christendom. I’ve read it four times. Sit down and listen." "No, you’ve got to listen to me," said the visitor. "That can wait; it’s down in black and white, while mine is fairly busting me wide open. Ann, do you know what took place at meeting this morning?" "Why, no, how could I? You know I said I’d never darken that door again, after that low-lived coward—" "Stop, Ann, and listen!" Mrs. Waycroft panted, as she sank into a chair and leaned forward. "You know I go seldom myself, but by some chance I went this morning. I always feel like doing the best I can towards the end of a year. Well, I had hardly got my seat and Brother Bazemore had just got up to make some announcements, when who should come in but Jane Hemingway. Instead of stopping at her usual place, nigh the stove, she walked clean up to the altar-railing and stood as stiff as a post, gazing at the preacher. He was busy with his notes and didn’t see her at first, though every eye in the house was fixed on her in wonder, for she was as white as a sheet, and so thin and weak that it looked like the lightest wind would blow her away. ’Brother Bazemore,’ she said, loud enough to be heard, in her shrill voice, clean out to the horse-rack, ’I want to say something, and I want to say it out before all of you.’" "Huh!" Ann grunted—"huh!"