drink where the water was new and sweet. A gray fox came stealing out through the broom-sedge and frost-bleached grass and after stopping to size up Mary, he crept closer and began lapping the water daintily. He was heavy with food. This very morning Maum Hannah's hens had cackled loud and cried for help. Budda Ben had got up and cursed the varmint that disturbed them, but Maum Hannah shamed him; she said God made foxes and hawks and owls so they had to eat flesh to live. They were not to blame. Ben must have patience with them and ask God to protect the hens.
Mary had always been afraid of God. He and Death were the two most fearsome things in the world. If she were to die, now, in her sin, God would put her in Hell and burn her for ever and ever. But if God knew everything, then He knew that July was not mild and easy-going like June, and that she loved him so much she had lacked the strength to rule him.
"May—e—e! May—e—e!"
Lord, how Maum Hannah could call.
"Yes,—Aunt—ee! I'm—a—com—in!" Mary sent back her answer as loud as she could, but it was weak beside Maum Hannah's clear trumpeting. That old voice had grown strong with long years of use. Many a time Mary
