Marcia Lowe's eyes filled with tears as she took the poor old fumbling hands in her own.
"Dear, dear friend," she faltered, "God will not need your service. He has chosen a burnt offering instead of a human sacrifice. The factory is in ashes now, and for a time, the children may rest."
"Sho'!" murmured Andrew. "Sho' to be sure." Then he wandered back to that past which held Starr.
"The last time I saw the parson was that-er-day when he went a riding off to the Gulch to help ole Miss Lanley out o' life. He had lil' Miss Queenie long o' him—she was the Walden girl as was."
Marcia Lowe sat up straighter and again gripped the wandering, wrinkled hands. Her uncle's letter came vividly to mind and she felt suddenly that she was being led by old Townley back to clear vision.
"Go on!" she whispered soothingly, seeking not to confuse the rambling wits. "Just where was old Miss Lanley's place?"
Andrew laughed foolishly.
"Lanley!" he pattered on. "Susie May Lanley! I reckon she was a right putty one in her day. I uster set and watch her and say this-er-way: 'plenty o' them! I'm going to get one!' meaning to make her jealous long o' gals, but she never took no heed—but Landy! she died forsaken and lone, and times is when I think she would have been a mighty sight better off if she had took me!"
Townley's long reminiscence had tired him woefully and he began to cry pitifully, swaying to and fro and repeating:
"She done died forsaken and lone!"