“Why, the Good Old Man. That's what some of 'em said, them that was disappointed about the New Jerusalem. But some said he did fetch it down; and they seen it, with the black horses and silver gates and velvet streets, and everything just the way he promised. And the others said he'd fooled 'em, or else they was just lyin'. And they said he'd got to the end of his string; and that was why he throwed himself in, and when he got in, he was scared of drowndin' and that was why he hollered for help. But I believe he just slipped in. Don't you, mother?” “Yes, Joey.” “Mother, I don't believe the Good Old Man had a grea' deal of courage. All the way Over the Mountains, he'd seem to scare at any little noise, even in broad daylight. Oncet, when we was goin' along through the woods, a pig jumped out of some hazel-nut bushes, and scared him so that he yelled and fell down in a fit, and they was a good while fetchin' him to. Do you think he was God, mother?” “No, Joey.” “Well, that's what I think, too. If he was God, he wouldn't been afeared, would he? And in the night sometimes he'd come and git me to come and lay by him where he could put his arm round my neck, and feel me, like as if he wanted comp'ny. Well, now, that wasn't much like God, was it? And when he thought I was asleep, I could hear him prayin', 'O merciful Savior!' and things like that; and if he was God, who could he pray _to_? It wasn't sense, was it? Well, I just believe he fell in, and he was afeared he was drowndin' and that's why he hollered out. Don't you, mother?” “Yes, I do, Joey.” “And you think I done right, don't you, to try to help him, even if it _was_ some resk?” “Oh, yes.” “I knowed it was _some_ resk, but I didn't believe it was much, and I kind of thought you'd want me to.” “Oh, yes, yes,” his mother said. “You did right, Joey. And you're a good boy, and--Joey dear,”--and she rose from the bench where she was sitting with him--“I believe I'll go and lay down on the bed a minute. Bein' up, so--” “Why, yes, mother! You lay down and I'll clear up the breakfast, or supper if it's it. It'll be like old times,” he said in the pride of his long absence from home. His mother lay down on the bed with her face to the wall, and he went very quietly about his work, so as not to wake the baby. But after a moment he went to his mother, and whispered hoarsely, “You don't suppose I could go and see Benny, a minute, after I've got done? It's 'most broad day, and I know he'll be up, too.” “Yes, go,” she said, without turning her face to him. He kept tiptoeing about, and when he had finished, he stood waiting to be sure whether she was sleeping before he opened the door. Now she turned her face, and spoke: “Joey?” “Yes, mother?” he whispered back, and ran to her softly, in his bare feet. “Did you get to like him any better?” He seemed not to take her question as anything strange, or to be in doubt of whom she meant.