"Well, ef you don’t beat all! Last Sunday a-slightin’ Gabe Plummer at meetin’, an’ now mighty nigh a-breakin’ yer neck ter git him outen the way o’ the raiders." "Gabe wasn’t the only one thar," said the girl in a low tone. "But it stands ter reason you wouldn’t ’a’ done it, ef he hadn’t ’a’ be’n thar. Yer pap may hev ter look out fer a new farm-hand arter all," with a touch of facetious humor, but watching the slow reddening of the girl’s throat and face. Standnege came to her aid— "Let her be, ma, an’ work it out in her own mind. Thar ain’t no ’countin’ fer the doin’s o’ wimmun folks, no how. They air mighty oncertain creeturs." "Why, pap!" exclaimed his eldest daughter, a mixture of indignation and reproach in her tone. "Now, I ain’t a-meanin’ ter throw off on ’em, an’ I don’t say as they ain’t all steddy enough when they settle down, but a gal in love is the oncertainest creetur that ever lived. Now S’phiry Ann ain’t a-lackin’ in common sense an’ grit, if she does belong to me," he continued, with calm impartiality; "an’ ef she wants ter marry Gabe Plummer ’fore craps air laid by, she kin do it." But it was Monday again, and S’phiry felt that her fortune was still an unsettled thing. "Ef it hadn’t ’a’ be’n for thinkin’ o’ Al Hendries’s wife," she said to herself again and again, and the old spinning-wheel flew swiftly beneath strong, young fingers, and the yellow corn-husk on the spindle filled slowly with smooth, even thread. She could look as downcast and troubled as her heart prompted, for no curious eyes were resting on her. Was it true? A shadow suddenly darkened the doorway. "Howd’y’do, S’phiry Ann?" The half-twisted thread fell from her fingers, writhed and rolled along the floor, fair sport for the kitten lazily coiled on the hearth, while she turned toward the secretly wished-for, but unexpected, visitor. She trembled, and the color in her face flushed and paled. "Gabe!" Then quickly, and with a swift searching glance toward the road, "is it safe for you ter be here?" "Yes, they air gone—an’ ter the devil, I hope." He leaned against the wall, jaded, forlorn-looking, the week of hiding out not improving either temper or appearance. "Take a cheer, an’ set down, Gabe," she said, a vibration of tenderest pity in her voice. "I ain’t a-keerin’ tu rest jest yit. That was a good turn you done us t’other night. No tellin’ where we would be now ef it hadn’t ’a’ be’n fer that. I don’t know how to thank you fer it, S’phiry Ann," he said, with strong emotion in his voice. "Don’t, Gabe!" she stammered, stooping to snatch the tangled thread from the paws of the kitten. "Would you ’a’ done it fer me?" "’Tain’t fair tu be axin’ sech questions," she said defensively. "’Cordin’ tu promise you air tu marry me." "I saud ut ef you ’ud go back tu the clearin’."