"Who tol' yo'?" The look he bent upon me was a mixture of pity and contempt. "Mrs. Toller. I've just come from there. She was uncivil at first, but I made up with the children, then she said Granny had told her she was going to Snack Hollow, where she had some folks. Where is this place, Satyr? I'm going, too, next train." "No ust, pardner." He scratched the dirty stub of a match on a plank, and lit up. "Granny--'n' Gran'fer--'n' Lessie--ain't a-nigh Snack Holler!" The fateful sentence came out in jerks, between puffs. I thought he was trying to scare me. "You can't fool me, Jeff," I retorted, but my voice lacked assurance. "How far is this Snack Hollow, and how soon can I get there?" With the greatest air of insouciance the vagabond fiddler chanted, in the same sing-song with which I had grown familiar: "Raccoon got a ring-a-roun' tail, Possum tail am bar'; Rabbit got no tail at all, Jes' a little bunch o' ha'r!" It was plainly immaterial to Jeff whether I believed him or not. Equally plain it was that he knew what he was talking about. "I believe you, Satyr. But who told you?" He was instantly placated. "Nobody to' me noth'n', but I ain't no plum' ejit." "But Mrs. Toller--" "Look-y-here, pardner!" Jeff squirmed around and thrust his goat-tuft forward. "Granny tuk Lessie 'way frum these here parts on 'count o' you. She 'peared to b'lieve whut I tol' 'er 'bout th' gel lyin' on yo', but they ain't no manner o' 'pen'ence to be put in Granny's notions. She's made up o' contrair'ness, anyhow. She jes' got to mull'n' 'n' a-brood'n', 'n' whut 'ith her trouble 'ith Ar'minty 'n' all she jes' 'lowed it's well 's not to light out fur a spell. 'N' hev yo' got little 'nough sinse to 'low fur a minute she 'd tell that long-tongued Ab'gail Toller whur she's a-goin'? Yes, she tol' Ab'gail Toller she's a-goin' to Snack Holler--'n' fur why? 'Cus she knowed yo'd come a-nosin' 'roun' axin' questions, 'n' th' fust place you'd go 'd be right thur." I felt the water closing over me afresh at these words of doom. "But don't you know?" I urged, desperately. "Didn't you ask Granny?" "Yes, I axed 'er, 'n' she 'lowed it's none o' my 'fair." "But you said they would be back soon. How do you know?" A sly grin crept to his thinly bearded lips. "Look-y-here, pardner. Me 'n' you's frien's. I've et yo' grub 'n' drunk yo' liquor 'n' slep' on yo' floor. I know yo 're lovin' Lessie 'n' lovin' her hones'. I 'm a-gunta bring 'er back to yo'. I said I didn't know whur they went, 'n' I don't, but I've got my s'picions. It mought be a week, 'n' it mought be a mont', 'n' it mought be longer. But I 'm a-gunta do it. Never yo' min' jes' how I'll manage. Th' day I fin' 'em that day they start home, 'n' I don't 'low they 's so tur'ble fur, neither." I felt my throat choke up at this totally unexpected act of generous devotion. I know my eyes grew moist, and it was several moments before I could say anything.