"You must have more grit than that," she said, patting one of the girl's hands. "You know I'll stand by you, and you know you're doing very nicely!" "I reckon I ought to know," Nancy sighed. "But, honest, Miss Jane, I've used up enough grit for a flock of dominick hens! There isn't any more left on our place!" Jane laughed. "If I'm not terribly mistaken in the girl, you'll find another supply before getting home." "I reckon you're awful mistaken, then," she sighed dolefully. "I've just plain got to the end of the pile. It's hard, Miss Jane, honest it is, with Pappy cussin' an' drunk, an' barely enough to eat, an' not decent clothes to wear! His mealy-mouthed wife stands for it, but I don't, an' that makes things all the hotter. I'm tired of it! Why, I could have everything I want if--if--" "If what?" Jane quickly asked. She looked fixedly at the girl whose face, suddenly crimson with blushes, made an effort to look calmly back. "Oh, if nothin', I reckon," Nancy stammered. "Sit over here nearer to me, Nan," Jane said after awhile. "I'm lonely myself today, and I've just heard something I want to tell you." In no school could she have acquired that faculty for reaching one's confidence, and this artfully expressed feeling of loneliness touched a response in the girl's nature which she now frankly confessed by timidly snuggling against Jane's knees. "Poor, tired thing," Jane murmured, her fingers touching Nancy's hair. "Do you sometimes fancy everyone unsympathetic?" "Sort of," came a trembling little sigh. Again the bees droned their drowsy lullaby. The song of the field hand was hushed, but in its place was the smell of new turned earth that told of a labor finished. With every detail vividly drawn, she related the story of the blind girl in a remote wilderness which had achieved the name of Sunlight Patch; of what she had accomplished; of all she had given to the lives of those about her. And in a lowered voice told of the promise exacted of her brother, her only brother and support. When she finished, Nancy was looking up with wide open eyes. "You mean to say she prayed for the only kin she had on earth to be struck dead if he ever went wrong?--an' him a man? Well, that surely is grit!" "The thing is, Nan," Jane said softly, "that people with two eyes ought to do at least as much!" Nancy arose and brushed her skirt. "I reckon," she murmured, "that girl can teach us a heap when it comes to gettin' your teeth in things an' holdin' on. I ain't got a good reason now for not goin' back an' fightin' the ole man; but I wish to Gawd somethin' would strike _him_ dead! Much obliged, Miss Jane--I sort of feel more like a Christian now." CHAPTER XI ON THE THRESHOLD