"Sartingly--sartingly. I seed dat, as soon es I sot my eyes on 'im, but what sorter man? My ole dad ust ter say, 'one fust-rate man could knock inter blue blazes er whole cart load er gentlemin'. I'll tell yer fer er fack, er gentlemin ain't nothin' nohow, but er man wid his dirty spots whitewasht. But what air the import er this one's intentions respectin' of ye?" Whatever her ideas on this point, the girl was too modest to express them. "Wall, maybe you kin tell me the dispersition of your own min' regardin' him?" "Yes, I can do that," she replied with alacrity. "Make up your mind to it. I'm going marry him just as soon as he asks me. And the sooner the better!" "Exactly! But when is he gwine ter?" "How do I know, father?" "I kin tell ye, Mell. _Never!_" "You don't know one thing about it--not a thing!" "Sartingly not! It's the young uns these days what knows everything, an' the ole ones what dont know nuthin'. But yo' ole dad knows what he's talkin' 'bout. The likes o' him will never marry any gal who puts herself on footin' wid er cow. Does yer reckin Miss Rutlan' would excep' his visits in er cornfiel', and let him make so free?" "It only happened so, father." "Hump! It's happen'd so er good many times, es I happen ter know. Happenin' things don't come roun' so reg'ler, Mell. See hur, my gal, 'tain't no use argufyin' wid me on the subjec'. I ain't got nary objecshun ergin yo' marryin' the young man; provided--now listen, Mell!--_provided you kin git him_. He's es purty es er grayhoun', an' I reckin has es much intellergence, but insted ef lettin' him make a fool er you, es he's now tryin' ter do, turn the tables, Mell. The biggest fool on top o' this airth is the woman who wants ter git married; the next biggest fool is the man in er hurry ter git er wife! One mo' word, Mell, an' I'll go my way, an' you kin go yourn. Ain't gwine ter mortify you no mo'. Remember, what I say: thar's only one thing you dassent do wid er fine gentlemin--_trus' him!_ Don't trus' him, Mell; don't trus' him! My chile, the good Lord ain't denied ye brains, use 'em! Here ends the chapter on Devilho--" Turning off abruptly, Mr. Creecy puffed sturdily up the hill, leaving his daughter deep in the sulks, but with much solid food for reflection. Her eyes followed him sullenly. He was but one remove from--a darkey. Never had he appeared so irredeemably ugly, awkward and illiterate; never acted so altogether and exasperatingly vulgar, horrid and abominable, and yet she pondered deeply on his words. Their effect upon her surprised even herself. Can an unschooled man be wise? Ah, Mell! wisdom is not curbed by rhetoric, nor ruled by grammar. The _respicere finem_ of the unlettered appears oftentimes to be _jure divino_. After a while Mell wiped away the very last tear of agonized pride, which hung like a dewdrop on her long curling lashes. The gall and wormwood of her present feelings were somewhat abated. She knew what she was going to do.