“Sorry, my man,” said the bridegroom, “but it’s your mistake. We’ll let you know when we’re ready for you.” “You goin’ to live in the barn?” “There!” said Lucie, “he knew all about it!” They turned away for the walk which Sam had momentarily delayed. I heard Lucie say, “How did he know?” and I might have followed to tell her that Sam always knew; but at that moment I was struck motionless by hearing Ned Harvey drop the word “Imbecile!” Sam, very likely, did not know its meaning, but the tone as it floated back was unmistakable. “I’m sorry you knocked off ploughing, Sam,” I said, my eyes slinking. “Oh, I left Ben at it. Len said he could spare him.” “That means Len is doing double work, so Ben can help you out.” “He’p me out? They’s yore friends, not mine. I like Mis’ Harvey though. She’s mighty nice.” “Mr. Harvey, too.” He looked toward Harvey, who was wearing a hunting-jacket very handsomely. “Well, as to that, he wears a fine huntin’-jacket, but I’ve seen folks wearin’ good clo’s that had to hunt up the nest-eggs to fry if company dropped by to dinner.” A pensive shade came into his eyes as they continued to follow the vanishing figure of Harvey. “I always thought I’d like a huntin’-jacket,” he said; and as he walked away, something in his bearing told me that he was imaginarily clothed as his heart desired. There had been no resentment in his voice. Perhaps he had taken no notice of that terrible word. And gradually I forgot that it had been uttered. II A few days later Sam passed through my yard, where Ned Harvey was warmly engaged in persuading me not to have my crimson clover turned under, but to hog it off. He had carried some of my farm books to the barn, and the phrase “hog it off” had him in its power. Lucie’s eyes approved shiningly. “And you know, Dolly,” she said, “after all, Ned is a realtor, not a farmer.” “But, Mis’ Harvey,” said Sam, “we don’t fatten hogs round here in the spring; an’ clover makes soft meat--sorter like bear’s meat. An’ that makes me think now--hain’t ye heard about that bear runnin’ on Pitcher Mountain? Hit come down from Smoky.” “You’ve bears here?” asked Ned, turning a captured ear. “Oh, ay, they’s a few left. They come down from the bear-ground on Smoky oncet in a while. It’s only eleven miles straight through to Pitcher. If I can git Tom Bowles to plough fer me, I’m goin’ to have a look at this feller.” He passed on, leaving Harvey intently gazing at nothing. His bride caught his arm. “You are not going, Ned?” “Not without your consent, Lucie. It’s an opportunity, of course. I have never shot a bear.” His thoughts wandered. We could see that he was already back at home telling the boys about it. “If only you would be very, _very_ careful, dear!”