For Jane Withersteen the child was an answer to prayer, a blessing, a possession infinitely more precious than all she had lost.

For Lassiter, Jane divined that little Fay had become a religion.
"Does oo love my new mower ?" repeated Fay.
Lassiter's answer to this was a modest and sincere affirmative.
"Why don't oo marry my new mower an' be my favver ?" Of the thousands of questions put by little Fay to Lassiter the was the first he had been unable to answer.
"Fay--Fay, don't ask questions like that," said Jane.
"Why ?" "Because," replied Jane.

And she found it strangely embarrassing to meet the child's gaze.

It seemed to her that Fay's violet eyes looked through her with piercing wisdom.
"Oo love him, don't oo ?" "Dear child--run and play," said Jane, "but don't go too far.

Don't go from this little hill." Fay pranced off wildly, joyous over freedom that had not been granted her for weeks.
"Jane, why are children more sincere than grown-up persons ?" asked Lassiter.
"Are they ?" "I reckon so.