October had led forth her train across the Cumberlands. One night the forest was fairly green, but early risers next morning found that in the darkness while they slept the hickories had been touched to gold, the oaks smitten with a promise of the glowing mahogany-red which was to be theirs. Sourwood and sumach blazed; the woodbine flung its banner of blood, chestnuts were yellow where the nuts dropped through them from loosened burs. The varying dark greens of balsam and fir, pine and cedar, heightened by contrast the glow of colour, while the dim blue sky above set its note of tender distance and forgetfulness. On a thousand mountain peaks smoked and smouldered, flared and flamed the altar fires of autumn.

After that each day saw a deepening of the glory in the hills. It was like a noble overture a multitudinous chorus made visible. The marvel of it was that one sense should be so clamorously challenged while the other was not addressed. The ear hearkened ever amid that grand symphony of colour for some mighty harmony of sound. But even the piping song-birds were gone, and the cry of a hawk wheeling high in the blue, the voice of a woman calling her cow, these sounded loud in the autumnal hush.

The streams were shrunken to pools whose clear jade reaches reflected the blazing banners above them, and offered mimic seas for the sailing of painted argosies when the wind shook the leaves down. There was a fruity odour of persimmon and wild grape forever in the air. The salmon-pink globes stood defined against the blue on leafless twigs, while the frost sweetened them to sugary jelly, and the black wild grape by the water-courses yielded an odour that was only less material than the flavour of its juices. Every angle of the rail fences became a parterre with golden-rod, cat-brier, and the red-and-yellow pied leaves of blackberries, while a fringe of purple and white asters thrust fragile fingers through the rails below, or the stout iron-weed pushed its purple-red blooms into view at the head of tall, lance-like stems.

Judith walking in the woods one day found a great nest of Indian pipe. She bent listlessly to pick the waxen mystic blossoms, thinking to herself that they were like some beautiful dead thing; and then she came upon a delicate flush on the side of their clear, translucent pearl, and wondered if it were an omen.

It was a gorgeous October Sabbath when the boys were baptised. Baptisms always took place from Brush Arbour in a sizable pool of Lost Creek which flows through one corner of the little valley that holds the church building. The sward which ran down to its clear mirror was yet green, but the maples and sourwoods above it were coloured splendidly. Among their clamant red and yellow laurel and rhododendron showed glossy green, and added to the gay tapestry. The painted leaves let go their hold on twig or bough and dropped whispering into the water, like garlands flung to dress the coming rite.

Morning meeting was over. The women-folks who had come far spread dinner on the grass near the church, joining together occasionally, the children wandering about in solemn delight with a piece of corn pone in hand, whispering among the graves in the tiny God’s acre, spelling out the words upon some wooden head-board, or the rarer stone.

The Big Spring was the customary gathering place of the young people before church, and during intermissions, about its clear basin, on the slopes above the great rock from under which it issued, might be seen a number of couples, the boys in Sunday best of jeans or store-bought clothing, the girls fluttering in cheap lawns or calicoes, and wearing generally hats instead of the more becoming sunbonnet. Judith had been used to lead her following here, and the number of her swains would have been a scandal in any one else: but there was a native dignity about Judith Barrier that kept even rural gossip at bay. This morning, however, when Elder Drane gave her the customary invitation to walk down there for a drink, she refused, and all during the first service the widower had sat tall and reproachful on the men’s side and reminded her of past follies. She was aware of his accusing eyes even when she did not look in his direction, and uncomfortably aware too that others saw what she saw.

Throughout the pleasant picnic meal, shared with its group of neighbours, the sight of Andy and Jeff with Cliantha and Pendrilla aggravated a dull pain which dragged always in her heart, and when dinner was over and they had packed the basket once more, and set it in the back of the waggon, she left them, to wander by herself on the farther side of Lost Creek, sitting down finally in the shade of a great sourwood, and looking moodily at the water. All afternoon she sat there wrapt in her own emotions, forgetful of time and place. The congregation straggled back into the little log church, and the second service was begun. The preacher’s voice came floating out to her softened by distance, and with it the sound of singing; as the meeting drew to its close an occasional more vociferous “Amen!” or “Glory!” or “Praise God!” made itself heard. The sun was beginning to slant well from the west when she got suddenly to her feet with the startled realisation that afternoon preaching was over, the people were pouring from the church door, streaming across the green toward the baptising pool. They were in the middle of a hymn.

came their musical tones across the water. The grey-haired old preacher was in the lead, his black coat blowing about him, the congregation spreading out fan-wise as they followed after, Andy and Jeff arm in arm, the half-dozen others who were to be baptised walking with them.

Her fretted, pining spirit had no appreciation left for the appeal of the picture. She gazed, and looked away, and groaned. “Oh, wanderer return,” they sang—almost her heart could not bear the words.

She sighed. Ought she to cross the foot-log and be with them when the boys were dipped? But while she hesitated the singers struck up a different hymn, a louder, more militant strain. Brother Bohannon was at the water; he was wading in; he was up to his knees now—up to his waist.

“Send ’em in, Brother Drane,” she heard him call. “This is about deep enough. That’s right—give me the young men first. When the others see them dipped they’ll have no fear.”

Elihu Drane took Andy’s arm, and another helper laid hold of Jeff.

“Sing—sing brethren and sisters,” admonished the preacher. “Make a joyful noise unto the Lord. This is the time for Hallelujahs. Ef ye don’t sing now, when will ye ever?”

Andy spoke low in the elder’s ear, whereupon he was released, and turned to his brother; hand-in-hand the two stepped into the water alone. Judith saw the pale, boyish faces, strangely refined by the exaltation of spirit which was upon them, as the twins waded out toward the preacher. Bohannon called to Jeff, shook hands with him, shouted, “Praise God, brother. Glory! Glory! Now—make yo’se’f right stiff. Let me have ye. Don’t be scared. I won’t drop ye. I’ve baptised a many before you was born, son.” His right hand was lifted dripping above the dark head. “I baptise ye, Thomas Jefferson Turrentine, in the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Ghost, Amen.”

“Amen—Amen!” came the deep chorus from the bank, the high, plaintive women’s voices undertoned by the masculine bass.

The black coat sleeve went around the white-clad shoulders, the preacher dropped his new convert gently backward into the shining water, dipped him, and Jeff who was not an excellent swimmer for nothing, came up quiet, smiling, and stood aside to wait for his brother.

“Sing—sing!” cried the preacher. “Here goes another soul on its way to glory,” and he reached forth to take Andy. A moment later he sent him, drenched, but washed clean of his sins, so far as mountain belief goes, after his twin. The hallelujahs burst forth to greet the boys: joyful shouts, amens, and some sobbing when, hand-in-hand—even as they had gone in—they came up out of the water.

“Mighty pretty to look at, ain’t it?” said a voice at Judith’s shoulder.

She turned to find Blatch Turrentine standing behind her.

“I reckon Andy and Jeff is goin’ to be regular little prayin’ Sammies from this out,” jeered the newcomer.

“Granny Lusk has given her consent for them and the gals to be wedded,” remarked Judith softly. To her—and perhaps to Cliantha and Pendrilla also—the main importance of the twins’ conversion was in this permission, which had been withheld so long as they were wild and had a bad name.

“I heared of another weddin’ that might interest ye,” Blatch insinuated. “Want to come and walk a piece over by the Big Spring, Judy?”

Judith turned uncertainly. The boys had passed on up to the sheds to get on dry clothing. It was nearly time for her to be going back to the waggon. Bohannon was dipping Doss Provine’s sister Luna. A group of trembling, tearful candidates, mostly young girls, were being heartened and encouraged for the ordeal by the helpers on the bank.

“Tell me here—cain’t ye?” she said listlessly.

“I heared from a feller that got it from another feller,” Blatch began smilingly, “that Huldy Spiller an’ Creed Bonbright was wedded and gone to Texas. I reckon hit’s true, becaze the man that told me was aimin’ to buy the Bonbright farm.”

Judith did not cry out. She hoped her colour did not change very much, for Blatch’s eyes were on her face. After a while she managed to say in a fairly steady voice,

“Does Wade know? Have ye sent any word to him?”

“No,” drawled Blatch. “Unc’ Jep aimed to break off with me, and he left you the only one o’ the family that dared speak with me. Mebbe you would like to write an’ tell Wade?”

“I don’t know,” sighed Judith hopelessly. “What’s the use?”

“Farewell,” said Blatch, using a common mountain form of adieu. “I reckon Unc’ Jep won’t want to see me standin’ around talkin’ to ye. You tell Wade,” significantly. “The sooner he gets Huldy out of his head the better for him. No use cryin’ over spilt milk. They’s as good fish in the sea as ever come out of it.”

He looked long at her downcast face.

“Jude, the man that told me that about Bonbright,” he said, speaking apparently on sudden impulse, “’lowed that the feller had left you—give ye the mitten. You’re a fool ef ye let that be said, when his betters is wantin’ ye.”

Without another word, without a glance, he turned and slouched swiftly away down the path behind the fringe of bushes by the creek side.

The baptising was over. Judith, crossing the stream, saw her uncle’s waggon, Beck and Pete already hitched to it, being loaded with Jim Cal and his tribe. Andy and Jeff were horseback with the Lusk girls. She hurried forward to join them and make ready for departure when, to her dismay, she encountered Drane at the foot of the slope coming toward her.

“Wasn’t that thar Blatchley Turrentine?” inquired the elder.

The girl nodded.

“I didn’t see him in the church,” Drane pursued.

“I reckon he wasn’t there,” assented Judith lifelessly, making as though to pass on.

“He jest came here to have speech with you, did he?” inquired the man, nervously, brushing his sandy whiskers with unquiet fingers.

“I reckon he did,” acknowledged Judith without coquetry, without interest.

“Jude!” burst out the widower, “I promised you I never would again ax you to wed; but I’m obliged to know ef you’re studyin’ about takin’ that feller.”

“No,” said Judith, resenting nothing, “I never did aim to wed Blatch Turrentine, and I never will.”

The elder stood directly in her path, blocking the way and staring down at her miserably for a long minute.

“That’s what you always used to tell me,” he remarked finally with a heavy sigh. “Back in them days when you let me hope that I’d see you settin’ by my fireside with my children on your knees, you always talked thataway about Blatch—I reckon you talked thataway of me to him.”

Judith’s pale cheek slowly crimsoned. She looked upon the ground. “I’m mighty sorry,” she said slowly.

Elihu Drane’s faded eyes lighted with fresh fires. He caught the hand that hung by her side.

“Oh, Jude—do you mean it?” he cried. “Do you care? You don’t know how the chaps all love ye and want ye. That old woman I’ve got doin’ for ’em ain’t fittin’ to raise ’em. Everybody tells me I’ve got to marry and give ’em a mother, but I cain’t seem to find nobody but you. If you feel thataway—if you’ll——”

Judith drew her hand away with finality, but her eyes were full of pitying kindness. She knew now what she had done to this man. By the revealing lamp of her own suffering she read his. Back in the old days she had counted him only one more triumph in her maiden progress.

“No,” she said gravely, “I ain’t studyin’ about marryin’ anybody. I’m mighty sorry that I done thataway. I’m sorry, and ashamed; but I have to say no again, Elder Drane. There ain’t never goin’ to be no other answer.”

“Hit’s that feller Bonbright,” declared the elder sternly as he stood aside to let her pass. “Good Lord, why ain’t the man got sense enough to come back and claim his own!”