Douglas swallowed audibly. "Grandma," he cried passionately, "how can I get to believe what you do?" Grandma looked thoughtfully from her plump milch cow to the lantern, and from the lantern to Douglas. "Doug, I don't think you can, living among the folks you do. To have my kind of faith, you've got to have a mother that breeds it in you from the time you're a baby." Douglas, his face looking absurdly young above his broad shoulders, said despairingly, "I don't believe you want to help me." "Well," Grandma was still deliberate, "I don't believe a wild young devil like you really wants help. You're just scared." Douglas rose, drawing himself to his full height. He was deeply offended. "I thought you might understand me!" he exclaimed. He strode out to Buster and galloped home. It was extremely difficult to find a moment alone with Judith in the two-room cabin; but the chores were late that night and Judith, instead of helping her mother with the supper preparations, went out to milk, and so Doug's second interview that evening was in the cow shed, for when he reached the home corral, Judith had not finished her task. This time, he was not precipitate. He sauntered into the little stable with a manner of large leisure. "Hello, Jude!" "Hello, Douglas! Finished feeding?" "No. I just got back. What did you think of the funeral?" "I'm not thinking of it at all." "Jude, don't you believe there's any hereafter?" "Doug, I don't want to talk about it." "But, Judith, I'm lonely and I've got to talk to some one." Judith turned an indignant face toward the tall boy. "Don't you suppose I'm lonely, too? What good does talk do? Religion is all right for little kids but you can't believe in fairy tales as you grow up." "But what can we do?" insisted Douglas, the sweat breaking out above his lips again. "Doesn't the thought of no God, no hereafter, just paralyze you?" "I tell you," repeated Judith obstinately, "I just don't let myself think about it." "Then what's made you so cross ever since that night?" Judith rose and set the brimming milk pail in a feed box. Her eyes, in the lantern light, widened with a horror so devastating that Douglas clutched the manger behind him. "How did you know? Doug, that's it and there's no place to go for help because there isn't any help for that!" The sudden revelation of her need roused Douglas. He moistened his lips and said, "We've got to harden ourselves to stand it, like the rest of 'em do. And when it gets too bad we can talk to each other about it. That'll help." Judith clutched his arm as if she felt the need of touching a human being. Douglas did not stir but as he stood looking down at her a strange aching gladness at her nearness and at her splendid girlhood flooded the horror out of his thought. "I'll carry the milk pail in for you, Jude," he said.