“I’d—.  He wouldn’t be sorry.”

“Um!...  Nate Weaver, back country a spell, is lookin’ fer a wife.  Hain’t young.  Got lots of money, and the right woman could weasel it out of him.  Lots of it....  He’d like you fine.  Homer won’t have much, and if his pa keeps on feelin’ like he does, he won’t have none....  If you’re lookin’ fer a restin’ place, you might consider Nate.  I could fix it.”  Her eyes flashed.  “I haven’t come to that yet,” she said, sharply, and then began to cry quietly.

“Um!...”  Scattergood gripped his pudgy hands together so that each might restrain the other from patting her head comfortingly.  “Um!...  What’s your name?”

“My name?”

“Yes....  ’Tain’t Wife-ette Hinchbrooke.  They hain’t no sich name.  ’Tain’t human....  What’s your real one?”

“Eva Hopkins.”

“How’d you come to change?”

“A girl’s got a right to call herself anything she wants to,” she said, defensively.

“Except Mrs. Homer Locker,” said Scattergood, dryly.  “Now jest come off’n your high boss, and we’ll talk.  When we git through, we’ll do....  Either you’ll take the mornin’ train out of Coldriver, or you’ll stay and well see.  Depends on what I hear.”

“I could lie,” she said.

“Folks don’t gen’ally lie to me,” said Scattergood, gently.  “They found out it didn’t pay—­and I hain’t much give to believin’ nothin’ but the truth.  We deal in it a lot up this here way.”

“I hate your people and their dealings.”

“Don’t wonder at it.  I seen what they done to you to-night....  But you don’t know ’em like I do.  They’s times when they act cold and ha’sh and nigh to cruel, but that hain’t when they’re real.  Them times they’re jest makin’ b’lieve, ’cause they hain’t got no idee what they ought to do....  I’ve knowed ’em these thirty year—­right down knowed ’em.  Lemme tell you they hain’t a finer folks on earth, bar nobody.  They don’t show much outside, but the insides is right.  You kin find more kindness and charity and long-sufferin’ and tenderness and goodness right here amongst the cantankerous-seemin’ of Coldriver ’n you kin find anywheres else on earth....  They’re narrer, Eva, and they got sot notions, but they got a power to do kindness, once you git ’em started at it, that hain’t to be beat....  I kind of calculate God hain’t so disapp’inted with the folks of Coldriver as a stranger might git the idee he is....  Now we’ll go ahead.”

When Scattergood had done asking questions and receiving answers, he sat silent for a matter of moments.  Automatically his hands strayed to the lacing of his shoes, for his pudgy toes itched for freedom to wiggle.  He dealt with a problem whose complex elements were human emotions and prejudices, and at such times he found his brain to act more clearly and efficiently with shoes removed.  He detected himself, however, in the act of untying the laces, and sat upright with ludicrous suddenness.