"By George, that woman’s a corker," said the drummer, sociably, as he came back and stood near the long wood-stove. "Of course, I don’t know what it’s all about, but she’s her own boss, I’ll stake good money on that." "She’s about the sharpest and in many ways the strongest woman in the state," said the store-keeper, with a sigh. "Good Lord, Masters, she’s been my main-stay ever since I opened this shack, and now to think because that loud-mouthed Bazemore, who expects me to pay a good part of his salary, takes a notion to rip her up the back in meeting, why—" "Oh, I see!" cried the drummer—"I understand it now. I heard about that at Darley. So _she’s_ the woman! Well, I’m glad _I_ got a good look at her. I see a lot of queer things in going about over the country, but I don’t think I ever ran across just her sort." "She’s had a devil of a life, Masters, from the time she was a blooming, pretty young girl till now that she is at war with everybody within miles of her. She’s always been a study to me. She’s treated me more like a son than anything else—doing everything in her power to help me along, buying, by George, things sometimes that I knew she didn’t need because it would help me out, and now, because I didn’t get up in meeting last Sunday and call that man down she holds me accountable. I don’t know but what she’s right. Why should I take her hard-earned money and sit still and allow her to be abused? She’s simply got pride, and lots of it, and it’s bad hurt." "But what was it all about?" the drummer inquired. "The start of it was away back when she was a girl, as I said," began the store-keeper. "You’ve heard of Colonel Preston Chester, our biggest planter, who lives a mile from here—old-time chap, fighter of duels, officer in the army, and all that?" "Oh yes, I’ve seen him; in fact, I was at college at the State University with his son Langdon. He was a terrible fellow—very wild and reckless, full half the time, and playing poker every night. He was never known to pay a debt, even to his best friends."