She checked herself suddenly, and shot a fearful sidewise look at Auntie Sue; then turned and pointed in the opposite direction with a pretense of excited interest. “Look down there, ma'm! See how black the old river is where she smashes inter Elbow Rock, an' how white them waves be where the water biles an' throws hitself. Hit'd sure git you if you was ter git ketched in there with er John-boat, wouldn't hit? Listen, ma'm! You kin hear hit a-roarin' like hit was mad, can't you?” But the older woman turned to face, again, the quiet reaches of The Bend. “I think I like The Bend best, though, Judy. See how perfectly those trees and hills are mirrored in the river; and how the water holds the color of the sky. Don't you think God is good to make the world so beautiful for us, child?” “'Beautiful'!” cried poor, deformed Judy, in a voice that shrilled in vicious protest. “If there is a God, like you-all are allus a-talkin' 'bout, an' if He sure 'nough made them things, like you-all sees 'em, He sure hain't toted fair with me.” “Hush, Judy!” pleaded Auntie Sue. “Please don't, child!” But the mountain girl rebelliously continued: “Look at me! Just look at me! If that there God of your'n is so all-fired good, what did He go an' let my pap git drunk for, an' beat me like he done when I was a baby, an' make me grow up all crooked like what I be? 'Good'? Hell! A dad burned ornery kind of a God I call Him!” For some time, Auntie Sue did not speak, but stood with her face upturned to the sky. Then the low, gentle voice again broke the silence: “See, Judy, dear; the light is almost gone now, and there is not a cloud anywhere. Yesterday evening, you remember, we could not see the sunset at all, the clouds were so heavy and solid. The moon will be lovely to-night. I think I shall wait for it.” “You-all best set down then,” said Judy, speaking again in her querulous, drawling monotone. “I'll fetch a chair.” She brought a comfortable rustic rocking-chair from the farther end of the porch; then disappeared into the house, to return a moment later with a heavy shawl. “Hit'll be a-turnin' cold directly, now the sun's plumb down,” she said, “an' you-all mustn't get to chillin', nohow.” Auntie Sue thanked her with gentle courtesy, and, reaching up, caught the girl's hand as Judy was awkwardly arranging the wrap about the thin old shoulders. “Won't you bring a chair for yourself, and sit with me awhile, dear?” As she spoke, Auntie Sue patted the hard, bony hand caressingly. But Judy pulled her hand away roughly, saying: “You-all ain't got no call ter do sich as that ter me. I'll set awhile with you but I ain't a-needin' no chair.” And with that, she seated herself on the floor, her back against the wall of the house.