“My big brother Bill!” shouted Jeems Henery proudly.
“Who stopped gamblin', cussin', an' lyin'?”
“My big brother Bill!”
“Who stopped all these young uns o' Miss Hildy's from cussin' an' gamblin'?” And Jeems Henery shouted: “My big brother Bill!” The Angel, well pleased, turned to St. Hilda.
“Thar now,” he said triumphantly, and seeing that he had reduced St. Hilda to helpless pulp he waved his hand.
“Git back to yo' work, Jeems Henery.” But St. Hilda was not yet all pulp.
“Willie,” she asked warily, “when did you stop lying?”
“Why, jes' now!” There was in the Angel's face a trace of wonder at St. Hilda's lack of understanding.
“How did James Henry know?” The mild wonder persisted.
“Jeems Henery knows me!” St. Hilda was all pulp now, but it was late afternoon, and birds were singing in the woods, and her little people were singing as they worked in fields; and her heart was full. She spoke gently.