"A likely" girl indeed, dressed in a neat, clean cotton gown, its clumsy folds not able to hide the graceful development of her figure. She was Jesse Crow’s only child, and he regarded her with a just feeling of pride, and, though it had now taken a perplexing turn, felt secretly pleased at her disposition and ability to have her own way. Edwards nodded to her with a friendly smile. "Mornin’, Bet." "Mornin’ Mr. Ed’ards. How’s Mis Ed’ards and the chillun?" she inquired in a pleasant, soft-toned voice, pausing at the gate. "’Bout as common, Bet." She looked inquiringly at him. Mr. Edwards cleared his throat. "Now, Bet, you ain’t goin’ ter be onreasonable ’bout this Fannin scrape, air ye?" A sudden flush passed over her face, and she lifted the brimming pail from her head and placed it on the fence. "Depends on what you mean by that, Mr. Ed’ards, hopin’ you’ll take no offence a-talkin’ so plain." "I mean you ain’t a-goin’ ter hold up fer him ag’in everybody else, an’ pester yer ma an’ pa." Her lips trembled; she looked at her father. "Pa knows I ain’t a-meanin’ ter pester him." "Yes, honey, we know that," he said, her appealing glance melting his heart to tenderness at once. When had he ever failed to respond to her joy or sorrow? "Now, that’s Pink, an’ Sile Jill, an’ Bill Sanders, an’—" "Don’t be a-namin’ Bill Sanders ter me, Mr. Ed’ards, if yer please," she exclaimed quickly. "But it ain’t fair ter be a-blamin’ him fer Tom Fannin’s fault, Betsy," shaking his head reprovingly. "How kin I help it, Mr. Ed’ards, when I feel an’ know that in some way or other he’s the cause o’ it?" she cried, with a passionate tremor in her voice. "It ain’t a-hurtin’ nobody fer me ter b’lieve in Tom, spite o’ everything, an’ please don’t ax me not to, fer I must; I can’t help it." She opened the gate, and took up the pail of water and went on into the house, and a few minutes later the men heard the steady click-clack of the loom. All day she sat on the high bench, weaving steadily a stripe of blue and a stripe of brown, counting the threads carefully; but her heart lay heavy in her bosom, and her eyes were grave. She had been deeply shocked at the charge against Tom Fannin, but her faith in his honesty remained unshaken. She understood his faults, his weaknesses, but they only appealed to her womanly tenderness. He was generous, honest, and truthful, and if he was not so good-looking or so prosperous as others—Pink Edwards and Bill Sanders, she loved him. The heart of woman is past finding out. Bet Crow might have had pick and choice among the beaux of the settlement, and instead of favoring the suit of one of her smart, industrious lovers, she chose Tom Fannin, the poorest, least fortunate young man in the county. He had a farm, but it did not prosper, and his stock were neglected and shabby. "He’s shiftless," said his neighbors, and Bet knew it to be true, though too loyal even to acknowledge it to any one but herself.