"Certingly, certingly," said Tolliver, "thet air jest what I air a doin'. I beg parding er thousan' times fer sayin' what I hev, but, Kyernel, hit air a Lor' a mighty's truth, all the same, le' me tell ye. Them beads was ther' w'en she come, an' they was gone w'en she was gone, an'--" "Stop that! Take back those words or I'll throw you--" Dufour took a step towards Tolliver, but stopped suddenly when the latter drew a huge revolver with one hand and a long crooked bowie-knife with the other and said: "No yer don't, Kyernel, not by er good deal. Jest ye open yer bread-trap ergain an' I'll jest clean up this ole shanty in erbout two minutes." It may not be inferred how this bit of dramatic experience would have ended had not a lean, wizzen-faced mountain lad rushed in just then with a three-cornered piece of paper in his hand upon which was scrawled the following message: "I hev fown them beeds. They wus in mi terbacker bag." Tolliver read this and wilted. The boy was panting and almost exhausted. He had run all the way up the mountain from the Tolliver cabin. "Yer mammy say kum home," he gasped. "Hit air jest as I 'spected," said Tolliver. "Mammy hev made a pine blank eejit of me again." He handed the message to Dufour as he spoke. His pistol and knife had disappeared. A full explanation followed, and at the end of a half-hour Tolliver went away crest-fallen but happy. As for Miss Crabb she had made a number of valuable dialect notes. Dufour promised not to let the rest of the guests know what had just happened in the parlor. XIV.