“Yes,” repeated St. Hilda; “what?”
“The truth ain't in Jeems Henery,” the Angel went on placidly. “You can't lam' it inter 'im an' tain't no use to try. You jus' watch him close while I'm gone.”
“I will.”
Half an hour later the Angel put his hand gently on St. Hilda's knee, and his violet eyes were troubled. “Miss Hildy,” he said solemnly, “Jeems Henery is the cussin'est boy on Viper. I reckon Jeems Henery is the cussin'est boy in the world. You've got to watch him while I'm gone, or no tellin' whut he will larn them young uns o' yours.”
“All right. I'll do the best I can.”
“An' that ain't all,” added the Angel solemnly. “Jeems Henery”—St. Hilda almost held her breath—“Jeems Henery is the gamblin'est boy on Viper. Jeems Henery jes' can't look at a marble without tremblin' all over. If you don't watch him like a hawk while I'm gone I reckon Jeems Henery'll larn them young uns o' yours all the devilment in the world.”
“Gracious!”
James Henry veered into view just then around the corner of the house.
“Jeems Henery,” called the Angel sternly, “come hyeh!” And James Henry stood before the bar of the Angel's judgment.
“Jeems Henery, air you the gamblin'est boy on Viper?” James Henry nodded cheerfully.