“That’s what religion did for folks all these years,” he said suddenly.  “They never asked these questions, I’ll bet.  I wish I had it.”

“I don’t want to believe fairy tales just because I’m scared!” Judith tossed her head stoutly.

“I don’t either,” agreed Douglas dejectedly.

“I’m going to drive on home and get something to eat,” said Judith, lifting the reins.  “Food’s the only thing that’ll rid me of the dumb horrors.”

Douglas settled back against the hay, and the rest of the ride was continued in silence.

Old Johnny Brown stayed on for a day or so to clean up odd jobs neglected during the haying season.  He was a gentle, timid little chap, the butt of the entire valley, of course, and particularly of John Spencer.  Douglas often wondered why old Johnny consented to work each year at this season for his father.  This wonderment was solved the day after Doug’s and Jude’s conversation on the load of hay and in a manner destined in a small way to have its influence on Douglas’ affairs in the years to come.

Just before supper Judith returned from the post-office and rushed into the kitchen with a huge, long-legged, ugly puppy in her arms.  She set him on the floor where his four knotty legs pointed in four different directions and where his long back sagged like the letter U. He was covered with rough gray hair and his eyes were huge and brown.

“Isn’t he a perfect lamb?  He’s mine!” cried Judith, squatting beside him.

“Oh!  A lamb!” grunted John, who was combing his hair at the wash-basin in the corner.  “I thought it was a buffalo calf.”

“Don’t be stupid!” cried Judith.  “Of course, you’re no judge of dogs, but Peter says he’s just like Sister was at two months, only bigger.”

Mary Spencer looked him over critically, coffee-pot in hand.  “Isn’t he awful homely, even for a mongrel, Judith?” she asked.

“Mongrel!  What is the matter with all you folks?” exclaimed Judith.  “He’s no more mongrel than anybody else!  Come here to your missis, you precious!” and she gathered the great pup into her lap, where he sat complacently, his legs in a hopeless tangle.

“What’s his name?” asked old Johnny, mildly.

“Wolf Cub.  And you wait till I’m through with him!  You’ll see the best trained dog in the valley, like Sioux will be the best trained bull and Buster the best trained horse.  O, look, Doug!” as Douglas came in.  “See what I’ve got!”

“I dare you to name its pedigree, Doug!” chuckled John.

Douglas lifted the pup to the floor and ran his hands over its skull, along its back, and down its erratic legs.  “Some dog, Judith!  You’ll have to muzzle him by the time he’s six months old.”

Judith smiled triumphantly.  “No, I won’t!  Wait till you see how I train him.”

“You get that from your mother, Judith.  She was always gregus smart with critters,” said old Johnny.