“In a manner he is and in a manner he ain't,” explained Yancy, somewhat enigmatically.
“There are quite a number of children at Scratch Hill?” suggested Mrs. Ferris.
“Yes, ma'am, so there are; a body would naturally notice that.”
“And no school—not a church even!” continued Mrs. Ferris in a grieved tone.
“Never has been,” rejoined Yancy cheerfully. He seemed to champion the absence of churches and schools on the score of long usage.
“But what do the people do when they want to go to church?” questioned Mrs. Ferris.
“Never having heard that any of 'em wanted to go I can't say just offhand, but don't you fret none about that, ma'am; there are churches; one's up at the Forks, and there's another at Balaam's Cross Roads.”
“But that's ten miles from Scratch Hill, isn't it?”
“It's all of that,” said Yancy. He sensed it that the lady before him, was a person of much force and energy, capable even of reckless innovation. Mr. Yancy himself was innately conservative; his religious inspiration had been drawn from the Forks and Balaam's Cross Roads. It had seemed to answer very well. Mrs. Ferris fixed his wavering glance.
“Don't you think it is too bad, Mr. Yancy, the way those children have been neglected? There is nothing for them but to run wild.”