But S’phiry Ann did not linger to hear the full enumeration of her lover’s virtues. Hastily balancing the bundle of clothes on her head, she took up the blazing torch, and hurried to the spring, a crystal-clear stream, running out of a ledge of rock, and slipping away through a dark ravine to the river. If she imagined she had escaped all reproaches for her reprehensible conduct the day before, it was a sad mistake. Hardly had the fire been kindled and the rusty iron kettle filled with water when a young man came treading heavily through the laurel thicket above the spring, leaped down the crag, and saluted her. "Mornin’, S’phiry Ann." "Mornin’, Gabe," she said, blushing vividly and busying herself piling unnecessary fuel on the fire. [Illustration: MR. STANDNEGE.] He was a fine specimen of the mountaineer, lithe, well-made, toughened to hardy endurance, with tawny hair falling to his collar, and skin bronzed to a deep brown. He wore no coat, and his shirt was homespun, his nether garments of coarse brown jeans. He carried a gun, and a shot-bag and powder-horn were slung carelessly across his shoulders. "I knowed you had a way er washin’ on Monday, so I jest thought bein’ as I was out a-huntin’ I’d come roun’," he said, sitting down on the wash-bench, and laying the gun across his lap. "You air welcome," she said, taking a tin pail and stepping to the spring to fill it. "I wouldn’t ’a’ lowed so from yiste’day," darting a reproachful glance at her. She made no reply. "What made you do it, S’phiry Ann?" he exclaimed, no longer able to restrain himself. "I ain’t desarved no sech; but if it was jes’ ter tease me, why—" She arose with the pail of water. "No, it wasn’t that," she said in a low tone, her eyes downcast, the color flickering uncertainly in her face. "Then you didn’t mean what was said that night a-comin’ from the Dillin’ham gatherin’," he cried, turning a little pale. "Mebby it’s somebody over in Boondtown settlement," a smoldering spark of jealousy flaming up. "It’s the ’stillery, Gabe," she said, and suddenly put down the pail to unburden her trembling hands. "You hadn’t ought ter go inter it." "But the crap last year made a plum’ failure," he replied excusingly, his eyes shifting slightly under the light of hers. She was standing by the spring, against a background of dark green, a slanting sunbeam shifting its gold down through the overhanging pine on her dark, uncovered head, lighting up her earnest face, lending lustrous fire to her eyes. The scant cotton skirt and ill-fitting bodice she wore could not destroy the supple grace of her figure, molded for strength as well as beauty. "The crap wusn’t no excuse, an’ if you mus’ make whiskey up thar on the sly, I ain’t no more tu say, an’ I ain’t no use fer ye." "Yer mean it, S’phiry Ann?" "I mean it, Gabe."