"Why, see here, kid, if what you said is true--which, by thunder it ain't!--don't you see that doctrine, 'bout coming with an outfit, adding to it, and taking away what you want, and leaving what you must; blazing trails, clearing away underbrush and what not; why, don't you see that's worse, by a confounded lot, than the old-fashioned hell?" "Much, much more solemn." Drew leaned against a tree. His new strength was exhausted. Jock was too absorbed to notice the weakness and pallor. "Why," he went on excitedly, "when you know you're going to frizzle at the end--just you, yourself, you can see the justice of it, and respect what sent you there, but to eternally be thinking of others, and messing up their lives--why that's durn rot." "Filmer," the tone was low and faltering; "we're all one with God, no matter how you put it. All working together; all bound on the same journey. Think back; was there never one you loved who suffered with you and for you? Have you ever considered how much of that one's life you were hampering, when you dragged him--or her--down?" Filmer's face twitched. "Now, see here," he blurted out, and his eyes flashed, "the folks round here ain't going to stand for this rot, and I don't blame 'em. When they think it over, they'll get drunker than ever, and they'll even up with you later. You've got to learn more than you've learned already. Feelings are private property and outsiders better keep off. Come home to dinner. You look like a pricked bladder. This here gassing 'bout things what ain't worthwhile don't pay. Here, lean on me. It's all gol-durned nonsense using yourself up so." He took Drew firmly by the arm, and led him away. Drew was too weak to continue, even had he desired to do so, the conversation Filmer had forced upon him, but when they were smoking in the late afternoon Jock returned to the subject. "I was just wondering," he said, through the haze; "ain't there never no let up to that new-fangled idea of yours?" "None. That's the beauty of it." "Beauty? Huh! Well, we'll drop it. Feel like toddling down to Gaston's?" Drew rose at once. They passed down the pine-covered path slowly, and as they neared Gaston's shack, Filmer paused. "Wherever you be," he began slowly, "as occasion permits, you're going to air them sentiments?" "I'm going to live them. I may never have a chance to preach them. I'm a bit discouraged about the weakness that followed my first attempt." "Oh, thunderation! You're going to pick up flesh and strength fast enough--it's that slush you've got on board that's getting my grouch. I'd rather you had a natural death, kid. I've taken a liking to you; and you don't know St. Ange." CHAPTER VII Joyce stopped her wild little song, and stood still to listen. Then she stepped to the window, drew aside the white muslin curtain, and looked out upon the white, white world.