“I couldn't go to sleep till I'd said some 'n' to you,” he began, with another gulp. “I laid down an' made a try at it, but it wasn't no go. I've got to say it. I'm heer to swear that ef God, or some 'n' else, don't show me a way to pay you back fer what you done to-day, I 'll never draw a satisfied breath. Alan Bishop, yo're a man, _God damn it!_ a man from yore outside skin to the marrow o' yore bones, an' ef I don't find some way to prove what I think about you, I 'll jest burn up! I got into that trouble as thoughtless as I'd play a prank with my baby, an' then they all come down on me an' begun to try to drive me like a hog out'n a field with rocks an' sticks, an' the very Old Harry riz in me an' defied 'em. I reckon thar wasn't anything Bill could do but carry out the law, an' I knowed it, but I wasn't ready to admit it. Then you come along an' rendered a verdict in my favor when you needed the money you did it with. Alan, ef I don't show my appreciation, it 'll be beca'se I don't live long enough. You never axed me but one thing, an' that was to quit drinkin' whiskey. I'm goin' to make a try at it, not beca'se I think that 'll pay you back, but beca'se with a sober head I kin be a better friend to you ef the chance ever comes my way.” “I'm glad to hear you say that, Pole,” replied Alan, greatly moved by the fellow's earnestness. “I believe you can do it. Then your wife and children--” “Damn my wife an' children,” snorted Pole. “It's _you_ I'm a-goin' to work fer--_you_, I say!” He suddenly turned through the open gate and strode homeward across the fields. Alan stood looking after him till his tall form was lost in the hazy moonlight, and then he went up to his bed. Pole entered the open door of his cabin and began to undress as he sat on the side of his crude bedstead, made of unbarked poles fastened to the bare logs in one corner of the room. His wife and children slept on two beds on the other side of the room. “Did you see 'im, Pole?” piped up Mrs. Baker from the darkness. “Yes, I seed 'im. Sally, say, whar's that bottle o' whiskey I had the last time I was at home?” There was an ominous silence. Out of it rose the soft breathing of the children. Then the woman sighed. “Pole, shorely you ain't a-goin' to begin agin?” “No, I want to bu'st it into smithereens. I don't want it about--I don't want to know thar's a drap in the house. I've swore off, an' this time she sticks. Gi'me that bottle.” Another silence. Suddenly the woman spoke. “Pole, you've swore off as many times as a dog has fleas. Often when I feel bad an' sick when you are off, a drap o' whiskey makes me feel better. I don't want you to destroy the last bit in the house jest be-ca'se you've tuck this turn, that may wear off before daylight. The last time you emptied that keg on the ground an' swore off you got on a spree an' helt the baby over the well an' threatened to drap 'er in ef I didn't find a bottle, an' you'd 'a' done it, too.”