“Jus' onct, and that was enough. He'll have to leave here sooner or later.”
“What for?”
“Why, he don't believe in no divil—an' ye can't make folks good unless they knows there's a divil.”
Quincy recalled the story of the Scotch woman, a stern Presbyterian, who thought if ten thousand were saved at the final judgment that it would be “muckle many,” and who, when asked if she expected to be one of the elect, replied “Sartainly.” He felt that a theological discussion with Grandma Scates would end in his discomfiture and he wisely refrained.
Quincy reached Mandy Maxwell's just in time for dinner, and, at his request, it was served in Uncle Ike's room.
“This is more cheerful,” said he to Quincy. “I once thought that being alone was the height of enjoyment—and I did enjoy myself very selfishly for a good many years. Has Alice told you of our conversation?”
Quincy nodded.
“I've been thinking about it since and I decided my first move would be to live, if I could, with my own flesh and blood. But while they've got a down-stairs room, it will be too much work for Huldah.”
“That's provided for,” said Quincy. “Mrs. Scates is going to help Huldah.”
“What's to become of her grandson—he's consumptive they tell me.”