“I wants Judith!”
“Mere earthly affection, daughter! ‘And if a man’––”
“An’ Judith,” the woman persisted, “wants me!”
“Nay,” the parson softly chided. He was kind––patient with her infirmity. ’Twas the way of Parson Lute. With gentleness, with a tactful humoring, he would yet win her attention. But, “Oh,” he implored, as though overcome by a flooding realization of the nature and awful responsibility of his mission, “can you not think of your soul?”
“Judith, dear!”
The child arose.
“No!” said the parson, quietly. “No, child!”
The wind shook the house to its crazy foundations and drove the crest of a breaker against the panes.
“I wants t’ tell she, parson!” Elizabeth wailed. “An I wants she––jus’ wants she––anyhow––jus’ for love!”
“Presently, daughter; not now.”