“I’ve heard the song.  Yes, I think they sing it in all churches.  It’s quite common.  No, there isn’t any place called Rock of Ages.  It refers—­that is, I believe—­why, you see the thing is figurative—­that is, a kind of picture of things.  It refers to the Deity.”

“O!  Who is that?” asked the girt.

“Why—­God.”  He tried to say it as if he had been telling her it was Mr. Smith or Mr. Jones, but somehow the sound of the word on his lips thus shocked him.  He did not know how to go on.  “It just means God will take care of people.”

“O!” she said, and this time a light of understanding broke over her face.  “But,” she added, “I wish I knew what it meant, the meeting, and why they did it.  There must be some reason.  They wouldn’t do it for nothing.  And how do they know it’s all so?  Where did they find it out?”

The man felt he was beyond his depth; so he sought to change the subject.  “I wish you would tell me about yourself,” he said gently.  “I should like to understand you better.  We have travelled together for a good many hours now, and we ought to know more about each other.”

“What do you want to know?” She asked it gravely.  “There isn’t much to tell but what I’ve told you.  I’ve lived on a mountain all my life, and helped mother.  The rest all died.  The baby first, and my two brothers, and father, and mother, and then John.  I said the prayer for John, and ran away.”

“Yes, but I want to know about your life.  You know I live in the East where everything is different.  It’s all new to me out here.  I want to know, for instance, how you came to talk so well.  You don’t talk like a girl that never went to school.  You speak as if you had read and studied.  You make so few mistakes in your English.  You speak quite correctly.  That is not usual, I believe, when people have lived all their lives away from school, you know.  You don’t talk like the girls I have met since I came out here.”

“Father always made me speak right.  He kept at every one of us children when we said a word wrong, and made us say it over again.  It made him angry to hear words said wrong.  He made mother cry once when she said ‘done’ when she ought to have said ‘did.’  Father went to school once, but mother only went a little while.  Father knew a great deal, and when he was sober he used to teach us things once in a while.  He taught me to read.  I can read anything I ever saw.”

“Did you have many books and magazines?” he asked innocently.

“We had three books!” she answered proudly, as if that were a great many.  “One was a grammar.  Father bought it for mother before they were married, and she always kept it wrapped up in paper carefully.  She used to get it out for me to read in sometimes; but she was very careful with it, and when she died I put it in her hands.  I thought she would like to have it close to her, because it always seemed so much to her.  You see father bought it.  Then there was an almanac, and a book about stones and earth.  A man who was hunting for gold left that.  He stopped over night at our house, and asked for some, thing to eat.  He hadn’t any money to pay for it; so he left that book with us, and said when he found the gold he would come and buy it back again.  But he never came back.”