“He's a man that the children will like,” replied the woman.
“Children,” said the preacher, “are not competent judges of men. Let us go up to the house. Is he elderly?”
“I thought he was mighty young,” said the woman.
“The young,” replied the preacher, “are rarely impressed with the awful solemnity of God's commandments.”
“I think he's a good man,” said the woman. “Martha loved him right away, an' I'd trust him with anything I've got.”
“Our Mother Eve trusted the serpent,” replied the preacher.
And he extended his right arm, the fingers stiffly together, the thumb up.
“The youth of the community ought to be brought up in the fear of God.”
During the conversation, the miller's little daughter had gone on to the house.
Something vague, intangible, undefined had stopped the men in the road below the house, and made them await the arrival of the preacher. But that thing had not affected the children. The little boy David and this child had gone on without the least hesitation.