“I wonder, Jerry,” she said, as he and she, their pipes freshly lighted after supper, strolled about the “gyarden-spot” to note how the truck was thriving, Bose and a comrade or two at their heels,—“I wonder how high that thar new bredge be over the Tennessee Ruver?” “Never medjured it,” returned Jerry, his eyes twinkling as they met her serious gaze. “Ye g’ ’long!” exclaimed Mrs. Purvine tartly. She was addressing only the unfilial spirit that prompted his reply, for she had no intention of dismissing the audience, as she resumed at once in her usual tone. “Waal, from all ye hev hearn, wouldn’t ye ’low ez ennybody jumpin’ off’n it war ’bleeged ter break thar neck?” she argued. “I’d hev thunk so,” admitted Jerry, “but it seems not.” She looked sharply at him from over her spectacles as she canvassed his reply. It must have been accident. How could he know aught of Mink? She was for a moment so impressed with a sense of danger here that she took refuge in silence. “Them peas’ll hev ter be stuck afore long,” Jerry remarked presently, complacent in their growth. But the simple pleasures of a garden were too insipid to enchain the interest of the sophisticated Mrs. Purvine; her mind reverted to her burning secret and the many speculations to which it gave rise. She hardly noted the red sky, stretching so far above the purple mountains; the river, with reflections of gold and pink amidst its silver glinting. In the south Procyon, star of ill-omen, swung in the faint blue spaces. A whip-poor-will sang. Darkness impended. Once more she skirted the forbidden topic. “Waal, I wouldn’t advise nobody ter try it.” She was alluding not to the industrial necessity of sticking the peas, but to jumping off the bridge. “Naw, sir,” Jerry assented quietly. “’Bout some things Mink ’pears ter hev the devil’s own luck, though ginerally they run agin him. I reckon nobody but Mink could hev lept from that bredge an’ swum out’n the ruver ’thout gittin’ cotched.” Mrs. Purvine trembled from head to foot. As she turned her face toward him the light of the evening struck upon her glittering spectacles in the depths of her sun-bonnet, and it seemed a fiery and penetrating gaze she bent on her adopted son. “In the name o’ Moses, Jerry Price!” she solemnly adjured him. “How did you-uns know ennything ’bout Mink Lorey?” “Same way ye did,” said Jerry, in the accents of surprise. Mrs. Purvine sat down abruptly on the pile of boards beside the fence. Jerry, astonished at her evident agitation, proceeded: “Yer mem’ry air failin’ surely, ef ye hev furgot ez the dep’ty sher’ff tole us ’bout’n it yestiddy,—rid his critter right up thar ter the side o’ the fence, an’ I lef’ Bluff whar I war a-ploughin’ an’ went down an’ talked ter him.” “What war I a-doin’ of?” demanded Mrs. Purvine, feebly. “Ye war settin’ knittin’ right in front o’ the bedroom door,—ter keep we-uns from raidin’ in on them quilts ez ye war airin’ in the bedroom whar thar ain’t no air.”