The parson nodded again.
"Do you object to taking her into your house for a short time?"
The Reverend Taylor did not object.
"And your wife?"
"She will shrink, I guess, at first," he admitted. "Women who ain't seen much of life kind of think they ought to draw aside their skirts, and all that. They were taught copy-book morals about touching pitch, I reckon,"—he was wise concerning women now—"and it takes a good deal of hard experience to teach them that it ain't so. But she'll take my word for it."
"She is ill, you see?"
The parson had seen.
"She may be ill some time. Would it be asking too much of you to look after her?" The bachelor showed in that.
Taylor realized from the Benedict's greater knowledge that it was asking a great deal, but still not too much. He assured Cairness that she should be cared for.
"She was a captive among the Chiricahuas up in the Sierra Madre. She's had a hard time of it. That and the return march have been too much for her."