“You bet it don't! And it ain't good religion, neither. Now take--well, take this yard, for instance. What is it that I'm slavin' myself over this fine mornin'? Why, rakin' this yard! And what am I rakin'? Why, dead leaves from last fall, and straws and sticks and pieces of seaweed and such that have blowed in durin' the winter. And what blowed 'em in? Why, the wind, sartin! And whose wind was it? The Almighty's, that's whose! Now then! if the Almighty didn't intend to have dead leaves around why did he put trees for 'em to fall off of? If he didn't want straws and seaweed and truck around why did He send them everlastin' no'theasters last November? Did that idea ever strike you?” “I don't know that it ever did, exactly in that way.” “No. Well, that's 'cause you ain't reasoned it out, same as I have. You've got the same trouble that most folks have, you don't reason things out. Now, let's look at it straight in the face.” Lute let go of the rake altogether and used both hands to illustrate his point. “That finger there, we'll say, is me, rakin' and rakin' hard as ever I can. And that fist there is the Almighty, not meanin' anything irreverent. I rake, same as I'm doin' this mornin'. The yard's all cleaned up. Then--zing!” Lute's clenched fist swept across and knocked the offending finger out of the way. “Zing! here comes one of the Almighty's no'theasters, same as we're likely to have to-morrer, and the consarned yard is just as dirty as ever. Ain't that so?” I looked at the yard. “It seems to be about as it was,” I agreed, with some sarcasm. Lute was an immune, so far as sarcasm was concerned. “Yup,” he said, triumphantly. “Now, Dorindy, she's a good, pious woman. She believes the Powers above order everything. If that's so, then ain't it sacrilegious to be all the time flyin' in the face of them Powers by rakin' and rakin' and dustin' and dustin'? That's the question.” “But, according to that reasoning,” I observed, “we should neither rake nor dust. Wouldn't that make our surroundings rather uncomfortable, after a while?” “Sartin. But when they got uncomfortable then we could turn to and make 'em comfortable again. I ain't arguin' against work--needful work, you understand. I like it. And I ain't thinkin' of myself, you know, but about Dorindy. It worries me to see her wearin' herself out with--with dustin' and such. It ain't sense and 'tain't good religion. She's my wife and it's my duty to think for her and look out for her.” He paused and reached into his overalls pocket for a pipe. Finding it, he reached into another pocket for the wherewithal to fill it. “Have you suggested to her that she's flying in the face of Providence?” I asked. Lute shook his head. “No,” he admitted, “I ain't. Got any tobacco about you? Dorindy hove my plug away yesterday. I left it back of the clock and she found it and was mad--dustin' again, of course.” He took the pouch I handed him, filled his pipe and absently put the pouch in his pocket.