"Come here to me," he said, but in a softer tone; for she held the tenderest place in his heart; and she was fair enough to disarm even greater anger than his. She was a tall young person, with a certain charming dignity of carriage, a rather pale but lovely face, fine, pale brown hair, and steel-gray eyes. There was no vivid coloring about her, though plenty of character lay under that soft, subdued beauty. She was gowned in thin muslin befitting the summer day, with a narrow lace collar turned down around her slender neck. Mr. Galer laid his hands heavily on her shoulders, looking sternly into her clear eyes. "What’s this I hear about you and Sim Black?" She looked down, and the whiteness of her face and throat turned to rose. "I _would_ hang my head," giving her a slight shake. "What do you suppose that young beggar had the impudence to do this morning when I went over to Roswell? to ask me for you—you—old Jabez Galer’s grand-daughter; declared that he had always loved you, and that it was with your consent he came to me." "Yes sir," she said, in a low tone, tracing a seam in the floor with the toe of her neat little shoe. He stamped the floor. "Well, he’ll not get you, do you hear? Do you think I raised you, educated you, to marry a miserable little lawyer without a rood of land or a nigger to his name? No, sirrah!" "I thought you always intended me to be happy, sir," paling again before his wrath, but firm. "So I do, but you’ll be happy in my way, marry the man I have selected for you, and his name is—Josiah Williamson." She stared at him in a disconcertingly amazed, shocked way. "_Why, grandpa!_" "What’s the matter, now?" "He’s as old as you are." "He is not a year older than your aunt Jane." "And I love Sim, dear grandpa," she pleaded. "Don’t you dare to think of him again! Williamson—" "I will certainly not think of _him_," with a flash of her eyes. "I have forbidden Black ever coming here again, and I’ll wear him out with a cowhide if I ever hear of your speaking to him." "Brother, brother," remonstrated Miss Jane’s exasperatingly gentle voice from the dining-room door, her small person half hidden in an armful of mending. "Don’t ’brother’ me! What have you been doing, not to look after this girl? But women are contrary creatures, all of them, and enough to drive a man distracted with their piety and sentimental foolishness!" He went out upon the piazza, and sat down to let his vexation cool, while Pamela was folded in her grandaunt’s comforting little arms, to the detriment of the linen, which received a copious shower of tears. But if she wept she was also determined. As old Elbert had once shrewdly said: "Miss Pamely’s er Galer, too, en got de Galer will, en de Galer temper, en things gwinter fly to pieces when she en ole Mars come tugether."