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' Maxys as I did na believe it when they browt th' tale to me. They're powerful fond o' talebearing that Maxy 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 use to believe in. Happen that's what they mean by talkin' o' th' Methodys.”
People learned no more of the matter than this. They felt that in some way Joan had separated herself from their ranks, but they found it troublesome to work their way to any more definite conclusion.
“Hast heard about that lass o' Lowrie's?” they said to one another; “hoo's takken a new turn sin' Lowrie deed; hoo allus wur a queer-loike, high-handed wench.”