"I think I like The Bend best, though, Judy. See how perfectly those
trees and hills are mirrored in the river; and how the water holds
the color of the sky. Don't you think God is good to make the world so
beautiful for us, child?"
"'Beautiful'!" cried poor, deformed Judy, in a voice that shrilled in
vicious protest. "If there is a God, like you-all are allus a-talkin'
'bout, an' if He sure 'nough made them things, like you-all sees 'em, He
sure hain't toted fair with me."
"Hush, Judy!" pleaded Auntie Sue. "Please don't, child!"
But the mountain girl rebelliously continued: "Look at me! Just look at
me! If that there God of your'n is so all-fired good, what did He go an'
let my pap git drunk for, an' beat me like he done when I was a baby,
an' make me grow up all crooked like what I be? 'Good'? Hell! A dad
burned ornery kind of a God I call Him!"
For some time, Auntie Sue did not speak, but stood with her face
upturned to the sky. Then the low, gentle voice again broke the silence:
"See, Judy, dear; the light is almost gone now, and there is not a cloud
anywhere. Yesterday evening, you remember, we could not see the sunset
at all, the clouds were so heavy and solid. The moon will be lovely
to-night. I think I shall wait for it."
"You-all best set down then," said Judy, speaking again in her
querulous, drawling monotone.
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