"He's just as religious as you, in his own way, all the same," she said. "He told me religion be like clothes. If it fits, well and good; but 'tis no good trying to tinker and patch up the Bible to make it suit your case if it won't. I dimly see what the man means." "Do you?--well, I don't, and I don't want to; and I won't have him talk to you so; I ban't too pleased at this caper of his, to come out every morning for a glass of warm milk when you'm with the cows." "And of an evening too, he comes." "It must be stopped, then. He shall talk no more of his loose opinions to you. 'Tinker and patch the Bible'! What will he say next? Sometimes I feel a doubt if I did ought to bide here at all. I'm not sure if one should be working and taking the money of a man's that not a Christian." "He's a good man enough. I've heard you say yourself that you never met a better." "I know it. And that's the mystery. I hope he'll come round and see truth as the years pass by." "He's the better for the milk, and a kinder creature never walked," said Sarah Jane. In truth she had seen a good deal of Hilary Woodrow since first he strolled abroad after a sleepless night and drank at her bidding. It pleased him to find her at her work, for she was always the first to be stirring; and now he had fallen into the way of rising early, walking in the air, and talking with the dairymaid while she milked the cows. Sarah Jane, in some small measure, appeared to have revived his faith and interest in women. Her artless outlook upon life came as a novelty to him. Everything interested her; nothing shocked her. An almost sexless purity of mind characterized her speeches. An idea entering her brain came forth again chastened and sweetened. Her very plainness of speech made for purgation of thought. The things called "doubtful" were disinfected when she spoke about them. Hilary Woodrow found Daniel's wife not seldom in his head, and as time advanced he grew to anticipate the dawn with pleasure, and looked forward to the fresh milk of her thoughts, rather than that she brought him from the cow. He protested sometimes at the narrowness of the opinions round about, and told her, with gloomy triumph, that certain local ministers of the church declined to know him. "Which is best," he asked, "to say that every man is born wicked, as they do, or say that every man is born good, like I do? Why, 'tis to condemn without a trial to say that every man is born wicked." "Men be born little, dear, dinky babbies," she said--"no more wicked than they blind kittens in the loft." "Of course not; but that's dogma. They find it in the Bible. It's called the Fall. I can't talk to the men about these things--except Prout. But I wish I could get at your husband a bit, because he's in earnest. The fault with earnest folk so often is, that they never will understand other people are earnest too." "He knows you'm very good, sir, for all your opinions."