Retorts of varied sense and nonsense came from the Hounds, but without malice in their note. One voice answered, “I'd like to see you try, Jim Redfield!”
The other jolted closer toward the line of the Hounds, and leaned over. “Did I hear somebody speak?” he asked.
“I reckon not, Jim,” the voice of his challenger returned. “Come to join the band?”
“I didn't come to worry helpless women,” Redfield said.
“That's right, Jim. There's where we're with you. D'you reckon Apostle Hingston'll let us in to see the miracle if we'll keep the believers straight while the Almighty is at it?”
“I can't say for Mr. Hingston,” Redfield returned. “But if I was in his place I'd want to keep my jug out of sight when you fellows were on duty.”
Redfield passed the Gillespies as he lounged back to his place with a covert glance at the girl, who made no sign of seeing her champion.
The woman who was bringing the body of the miracle came round the corner of the mill, and showed herself in the open space with the bolt of cloth borne carefully in her arms.
“Why, it's a baby!” came from that merriest of the Hounds whom Redfield had turned from an enemy into a troublesome friend of the believers. “Reckon the women'll have something to say to that if he tries to turn e'er a baby into seamless raiment.”
The fellow got the laugh he had tried for, and when Redfield looked toward him again he said, “All right, Jim. I'm keepin' 'em quiet the best I can. But the elect will make a noise, sometimes.”