It was their elders who were more singly set upon the fulfilment of the sign, and who went with a more passionate expectation in the doubt or the faith which differenced them; children were more bent upon the affair of the evening than the young girls and the young men. They had been privileged in being allowed to go with their fathers and mothers when they had not been punished in being left at home and they subdued themselves as they could to the terms of keeping step beside them with the bare feet that felt winged and ached to fly. Old and young they passed Nancy's cabin thinly or at intervals, but sometimes in close groups; they glanced kindly or unkindly askance at her when they did not question her, and very possibly they read in her sitting there boldly aloof from them a defiance of the question which had begun to gather about her in the common mind since Laban had left her for his work at the Cross Roads, with none of those Saturday night returns which it had at first expected. It was known that Laban was of the same opposition to Dylks as Nancy and her brother, and it could not be that Dylks had caused the break between her and Laban which no one would have noticed if it had been an effect of religion. It could only be that Laban had left her, or that her temper had driven him away. With the last came a crowd of boys, whose lagging she understood when her own boy jumped down from the cabin door beside her. “Did I scare you, mother?” he asked, at her start. “No; I was expecting you, and you always come in at the back. You'll want your supper, I'll be bound. What made you so late, and all out of breath, so?” “I been running. We just got the last of the tobacco in, this evening, and Mis' Hingston made me stay and eat with Benny; she said she'd excuse me to you. I just left the other boys up over the hill, and run through the woods to get here in time and ask you.” “To ask me what, Joey dear?” She put her arms fondly round the boy's knees, and pulled him down to her. “The boys said you let me go to the Temple all I want to; but I told them the Miracle was different, and I'd have to ask you first. I told Mis' Hingston, and I told the boys. Me 'n' Benny got them to come round. Kin I, mother? Mis' Hingston thought may be--may be--you might come yourself. But I told her I didn't believe you would.” “No, I won't go, Joey. What makes you want to go?” “Oh, I don't know. All the boys are goin'. And I never seen a miracle yet.” “Do you believe he can do a miracle?” “Well, it would be some fun to see what he would do if he didn't. I'd like to hear what he'd say.” “And what would you think if he did do it? That he was--God?” “Oh, _no_, mother! He couldn't be. Mr. Dylks couldn't. I ain't ever thought for a minute that he was _that_.” “And if he failed--if he tried, and put himself to shame before everybody, how would you feel?”