At this juncture the subject of the conversation came round the house, carrying a big piece of bacon wrapped in a tow grain-bag. “Say thar, Pole,” Abner called out to the long, lank fellow. “We are a-goin' to have preachin' at Rock Crest to-morrow; you'd better have a shirt washed an' hung out to dry. They are a-beatin' the bushes fer yore sort.” Pole Baker paused and brushed back his long, thick hair from his heavy eyebrows. “I've been a-waitin' to see ef meetin' ever'd do you any good, Uncle Ab,” he laughed. “They tell me the more you go the wuss you git to be. Neil Filmore said t'other day ef you didn't quit shootin' off yore mouth they'd give you a trial in meetin'.” Abner laughed good-naturedly as he spat over the edge of the veranda floor to the ground. “That's been talked, I know, Pole,” he said, “but they don't mean it. They all know how to take my fun. But you come on to meetin'; it will do you good.” “Well, maybe I will,” promised Pole, and he came to the steps, and, putting his bacon down, he bent towards them. “It's a powerful hard matter to know exactly what's right an' what's wrong, in some things,” he said. “Now looky heer.” Thrusting his hand down into the pocket of his trousers he drew out a piece of quartz-rock with a lump of yellow gold about the size of a pea half embedded in it. “That thar's puore gold. I got it this away: A feller that used to be my right bower in my still business left me when I swore off an' went over to Dalonega to work in them mines. T'other day he was back on a visit, an' he give me this chunk an' said he'd found it. Now I know in reason that he nabbed it while he was at work, but I don't think I'd have a right to report it to the minin' company, an' so I'm jest obleeged to receive stolen goods. It ain't wuth more'n a dollar, they tell me, an' I 'll hang on to it, I reckon, ruther'n have a laborin' man discharged from a job. I'm tryin' my level best to live up to the line now, an' I don't know how to manage sech a thing as that. I've come to the conclusion that no harm will be done nohow, beca'se miners ain't too well paid anyway, an' ef I jest keep it an' don't git no good out of it, I won't be in it any more'n ef I'd never got hold o' the blamed thing.” “But the law, brother Baker,” said Dole, solemnly; “without the law we'd be an awful lot o' people, an' every man ort to uphold it. Render the things that are Caesar's unto Caesar.” Pole's face was blank for a moment, and Abner came to his rescue with a broad smile and sudden laugh. “I reckon you don't remember him, Pole,” he said. “He's dead. He was a nigger that used to belong to old man Throgmartin in the cove. He used to be sech an awful thief during slavery days that it got to be a common sayin' that everything lyin' round mought as well be his'n, fer he'd take it sooner ur later, anyways.”