Without warning Granf'er twisted his neck and ejected a curving stream of amber. It came down with a splash on the back of a half-grown chicken loitering near. There was a squawk of alarm, a flutter, a scurry from danger. "That's right!" shrilled the bundle of fat. "Ef yo' can't kill 'em no other way, drownd 'em with terbacker juice!" "Granf'er didn't see it!" championed Lessie. "It's under th' aidge o' the po'ch, 'n' 'tain't hurt no-how." Once more I saw her teeth, like two rows of young corn when the husks are green. Granf'er paid no more heed to his helpmeet's words than if it had been the wind blowing down the chimney. Even his expression did not change. Already a real pity was creeping into my heart for Granf'er. It took neither seer nor mindreader to discern that he belonged to that most to be pitied class of all who live and breathe--a man who has become simply a woman's creature. A man who, for one or more of a hundred reasons, had abdicated his kingship in the home, suffering a reversal of rule contrary alike to all divine decrees and natural laws. Such a man deserves what he gets, it is true, live he in a mansion or a hovel. Man was created to rule, and woman knows it. It is by ruling only that he retains her love. When his reign ceases, then not only does her love cease, but her respect also. Look about you! Granf'er drew the palm of his hand across his lips, mechanically--and with what seemed like a very natural motion--smoothed out some puckers in his coffee sack apron, and spoke. He was looking out upon the quiet majesty of the encircling hills, but I knew that he was addressing me. "Y' see, Jeffy's S'firy's nevvy. He come wrong, we-all 'pine. Leas'ways, they's some'n' in 'is head that's somehow onbalanced 'im. No nat'r'l man 'd go tromp'n' thoo th' woods frum morn'n' till night 'ith nothin but a fiddle fur comp'ny. S'firy's special'y sot ag'in a fiddle, holdin' 'ith lots o' folks that th' dev'l's in it--" "I'd jes' love to smash it to smithereens over a stump!" interpolated Granny. "--but ez fur me 'n' Lessie, we kind o' en_j'y_ Jeffy's scrapin' 'n' sawin'. Lessie's re'ly plum' cracked 'bout it, 'n' 'd foller Jeffy over th' hull durn county if we didn't p'suade 'er pow'ful." "Seems to me, Jer'bome, yo' c'n tell it 'ithout cussin'. Only las' Sunday I had to speak to Father John 'bout yo' increasin' wickedness!" "The hull durn county!" repeated Granf'er, quietly and reflectively, his gaze still fixed on the high hills. "They has big times--thim two--though Jeffy's mos' unsartain in 'is visits. Sometimes it's a month w'en we don't ketch sight o' 'im, 'n' ag'in he lingers with us a day or so at a spell. We sets lots o' store by Jeffy, 'cus th' Lord in 'is wisdom has saw fit to 'flict 'im. Th' wus' thin' 'bout 'im is th' liquor--" "I'd hev _some_ pride, Jer'bome!"