He turned and went hastily into the shadowy place. Bags of grain were scattered about. The hopper took up much room in the limited space; behind it the miller’s nephew and Mink were sitting on the step of a rude platform. They had a half-bushel measure inverted between them, and on it was drawn a geometric figure upon which were ranged grains of corn. There was a pondering intentness on the idiot’s wide face very nearly approaching a gleam of intelligence. Mink, incongruously patient and silent, awaited Tad’s play; both were unaware of the old man, among the dusky shadows, peering at them from over the hopper. At last, Tad, with an appealing glance at Mink, and an uncertain hand, adjusted a grain of corn. He leaned forward eagerly, as Mink promptly played in turn. Then, fixing all the faculties of his beclouded mind upon the board, he finally perceived that the game had ended, and that his opponent was victor. Once more his harsh laughter echoed from the rafters. “Ye won it, Mink. Ye won the coon.” “I don’t want yer coon,” said Mink, good-naturedly. “Ye kin keep yer coon ter bet nex’ time.” “Naw, ye kin hev the coon, Mink!” He caught at a string dandling from a beam. “Kem down hyar, ye idjit!” he cried, with a strange, thick-tongued enunciation. “Kem down hyar, ye damned fool!” The old man suddenly made his way around the hopper and stood before them. Tad rose, with a startled face. Mink looked up composedly. “Do ye know what ye air a-doin’ of, Mink Lorey?” asked the old man, sternly. “L’arnin’ Tad ter play ‘five corn,’” said Mink, innocently. “He kin play right sorter peart fur a lackin’ one. I dunno ez I b’lieve Tad’s so powerful fursaken no-ways, ef ennybody would take the pains ter l’arn him. I b’lieves he’d show a right mind arter a while.” “An’ thar ye sit, ez complacent ez a bull-frog—ye that the Lord hev favored with senses,” cried the old man, “sech ez they be,” he stipulated, making not too much of Mink’s endowments, “a-usin’ of ’em ter ruin a pore idjit boy,”—Mink’s eyes flashed surprise,—“a-l’arnin’ him ter play a gamblin’ game.” “Shucks! _five corn!_” cried Mink, accustomed to the iniquity of “playin’ kyerds,” and scorning to rate the puerile beguilements of “five corn” among the “gambling games” which he had mastered,—“what’s _five corn_! Enny child kin play it—that thar coon could l’arn it ef he hed a mind ter do it. I don’t want the critter. Tad; I don’t want it.” The old man’s tongue had found its ready oaths. “A-fixin’ on the idjit boy fur the prey o’ Satan. A-l’arnin’ him ter play a gamblin’ game ter damn his soul. An’ a-trickin’ him out’n his coon.” “I never!” cried Mink, in hasty extenuation. “I jes’ put up my rifle agin his coon ter make him think he war playin’ sure enough! But I ain’t a-goin’ ter keep his coon, an’ I don’t want it, nuther!”