A kind of terror he had never known before took possession of David.  Crouching beneath a tree he watched the man on the ground before him and his own knees began to tremble.  It seemed to him that he was in the presence not only of his grandfather but of someone else, someone who might hurt him, someone who was not kindly but dangerous and brutal.  He began to cry and reaching down picked up a small stick, which he held tightly gripped in his fingers.  When Jesse Bentley, absorbed in his own idea, suddenly arose and advanced toward him, his terror grew until his whole body shook.  In the woods an intense silence seemed to lie over everything and suddenly out of the silence came the old man’s harsh and insistent voice.  Gripping the boy’s shoulders, Jesse turned his face to the sky and shouted.  The whole left side of his face twitched and his hand on the boy’s shoulder twitched also.  “Make a sign to me, God,” he cried.  “Here I stand with the boy David.  Come down to me out of the sky and make Thy presence known to me.”

With a cry of fear, David turned and, shaking himself loose from the hands that held him, ran away through the forest.  He did not believe that the man who turned up his face and in a harsh voice shouted at the sky was his grandfather at all.  The man did not look like his grandfather.  The conviction that something strange and terrible had happened, that by some miracle a new and dangerous person had come into the body of the kindly old man, took possession of him.  On and on he ran down the hillside, sobbing as he ran.  When he fell over the roots of a tree and in falling struck his head, he arose and tried to run on again.  His head hurt so that presently he fell down and lay still, but it was only after Jesse had carried him to the buggy and he awoke to find the old man’s hand stroking his head tenderly that the terror left him.  “Take me away.  There is a terrible man back there in the woods,” he declared firmly, while Jesse looked away over the tops of the trees and again his lips cried out to God.  “What have I done that Thou dost not approve of me,” he whispered softly, saying the words over and over as he drove rapidly along the road with the boy’s cut and bleeding head held tenderly against his shoulder.

III

Surrender

The story of Louise Bentley, who became Mrs. John Hardy and lived with her husband in a brick house on Elm Street in Winesburg, is a story of misunderstanding.

Before such women as Louise can be understood and their lives made livable, much will have to be done.  Thoughtful books will have to be written and thoughtful lives lived by people about them.

Born of a delicate and overworked mother, and an impulsive, hard, imaginative father, who did not look with favor upon her coming into the world, Louise was from childhood a neurotic, one of the race of over-sensitive women that in later days industrialism was to bring in such great numbers into the world.