comfort. Theer's another mon here as had a little un to dee, an' when it deed, it war th' parson as knelt by its bed an' held its hond an' talkt to it when it were feart. Theer's other men here as had help fro' him as they did na know of, an' it wur help from a mon as wur na far fro' a-bein' as poor an' hard worked i' his way as they are i' theirs. Happen th' mon I speak on dunnnot know much about th' sick wife, an' deein choild, an' what wur done for 'em, an' if they dunnot, it's th' parson's fault."
"Why!" broke in "Owd Sammy." "Blame me, if tha art na turned Methody! Blame me," in amazement, "if tha art na!"
"Nay," her face softening; "it is na Methody so much. Happen I'm turnin' woman, fur I conna abide to see a hurt gi'en to them as has na earned it. That wur why I spoke. I ha' towd yo' th' truth o' th' little chap yo' jeered at an' throw'd his words back to."
Thus it became among her companions a commonly accepted belief that Joan Lowrie had turned "Methody." They could find no other solution to her championship of the parson.
"Is it true as tha's j'ined th' Methodys?" Thwaite's wife asked Joan, somewhat nervously.
She had learned to be fond of the girl, and did not like the idea of believing in her defection.
"No," she answered, "it is na."
The woman heaved a sigh of relief.
"I thowt it wur na," she said. "I towd th' Maxeys as I did na believe it when they browt th' tale to me. They're powerful fond o' tale-bearing', that Maxey lot."
Joan stopped in her play with the child.
"They dunnot understand," she said, "that's aw. I ha' learned to think different, an' believe i' things as I did na
