“I don't think any more need be said,” he smiled. “Brother Daniel has shown himself willing to do the right thing, an' I propose that the charges be dropped.” Thereupon a vote was taken, and it went overwhelmingly in Abner's favor. After the benediction, which followed immediately, Pole Baker hurried across to Daniel. “I declare, you make me sick, Uncle Ab,” he grumbled. “What on earth did you mean by takin' back-water? You had 'im whar the wool was short; he was white at the gills. You could 'a' mauled the life out'n 'im. Ef I'd--” But Abner, smiling indulgently, had a watchful eye on Dole, and was moving forward to shake the preacher's outstretched hand. “Well, I 'll be damned!” Pole grunted, half aloud and in high disgust, as he pushed his way through the crowd to the door. Abner found him waiting for him near the hitch-ing-post, where he had been to untie Bishop's horse. “I reckon,” he said, “bein' as you got so mighty good yorese'f, 'at you think I acted wrong.” “Not any wuss'n I did, Pole,” replied the old man, seriously. “My advice to you is to go to Dole an' tell 'im you are sorry.” “Sorry hell!” “It ud be better fer you,” half smiled Abner. “Ef you don't, some o' them hill-Billies 'll make a case at court agin you fer disturbin' public worship. Before a grand jury o' mossbacks a man with yore record ud not stand any better chance o' comin' cleer 'n a old bird-nest ud o' makin' good soup. When you was a-runnin' of yore still it made you powerful mad to have revenue men after you, didn't it? Well, this heer shebang is Dole's still, my boy, whar he claims to make good sperits out'n bad material, an' he's got a license, which is more 'n you could 'a' said.” “I reckon yo' re right,” said Pole. “I 'll wait fer 'im.” XV [Illustration: 9125] N the middle of the following week some of the young people of Darley gave a picnic at Morley's Spring, a beautiful and picturesque spot about a mile below Bishop's farm. Alan had received an urgent invitation to join the party, and he rode down after dinner. It was a hot afternoon, and the party of a dozen couples had scattered in all directions in search of cool, shady nooks. Alan was by no means sure that Miss Barclay would be there, but, if the truth must be told, he went solely with the hope of at least getting another look at her. He was more than agreeably surprised, for, just as he had hitched his horse to a hanging bow of an oak near the spring, Frank Hillhouse came from the tangle of wild vines and underbrush on a little hill-side and approached him. “You are just the fellow I'm looking for,” said Frank. “Miss Dolly's over there in a hammock, and I want to leave somebody with her. Old man Morley promised me the biggest watermelon in his patch if I'd come over for it. I won't be long.” “Oh, I don't care how long you are,” smiled Alan. “You can stay all day if you want to.”