"If he'm bad, I shall bide along with him, Dan. I can't leave him here—not for anything in the world."
"Of course not. I shouldn't ax it. Very like I'll bide too. If we think he's bad enough for a doctor, I'll go off for one myself."
She thanked him gratefully, and they spoke on indifferent subjects to calm their hearts. Sarah Jane hesitated not to praise Hilary Woodrow for his recent action. Indeed, she felt they owed him a very real debt of gratitude, and said so many times.
"You're almost too affectionate and kind to everybody," her husband declared. "Pushed so far as you push it, 'tis weakness."
"How can that be, Daniel? Even you hold it right to love your neighbour as yourself."
"You can strain that into foolishness," he answered. "And you are prone to do it. 'Tis a sort of gush in you. You mean nought—yet there 'tis. See how you look at a tramp that comes begging, and how Tabitha Prout looks at him. She tells the truth in her eyes, and shows her contempt of the rascal; you look as if you doted on his lazy carcase, and would gladly pour out the fat of the larder for him."
"I know 'tis so. I be fond of my kind—just because they be my kind, I think. I like 'em all—men, women, childern."
"So you should do—in a general spirit of religion, because they are made in God's image."
"No!" she said vehemently. "Not that—not that. Because they are made in mine!"
He showed discontent.