"You shall do nothing of the kind," I declared; "you heard Blant's commands on the subject. He is perfectly able to take care of himself, and does not want you. I, too, command you to stay here." "But he _haint_ able to take care of hisself now he's got the babe on his hands," Nucky insisted; "he can't noway keep lookout: of course they have come back to kill him if they can. I couldn't rest here a minute." "Nevertheless, I command you to stay," I said sternly, as I took my departure. But for my anxiety about him, and about this new threatening of "war" on Trigger, my visit to the little Salyers' home would have been a perfect thing. The day was glorious as we went, the mountains one blaze of reds, yellows and greens. All the way, the "two homesicks" were urging Mandy on with voice or hickory or both; while, entranced with the beauty, I earnestly wished that she might be permitted to go her natural gait. After following Perilous four miles, we turned up Nancy's Perilous, and went along it nearly an hour before we reached a small log house, almost hidden in apple trees, and Mrs. Salyer, with the four little children and Ponto trailing before and after, came out to welcome us. Although tears of joy stood in her eyes, she did not hug or kiss or "make over" her boys,--such displays of feeling being permissible only in or over babies. Little Sammy availed himself of his privilege to the fullest extent, gurgling, laughing and shouting at sight of his brothers, while Ponto, in equal exemption from the bonds of etiquette, nearly knocked them down in his joy. The two pretty little girls of five and three, being exhorted to "shake hands with the woman, Susanna and Neely," did so most politely; and Hiram, the seven-year-old, tore his gaze from Jason (they were engaged in a mutual size-up) long enough to go through the same ceremony. The boys made at once for the apple trees, and I was invited in. Mrs. Salyer was just finishing her day's stint of weaving, and sat in the loom and threw the swift shuttle while we conversed. Seeing her for the first time without the black sunbonnet, I realized where the boys get their extreme beauty. I asked her, of course, about family history, and learned that her ancestors, too, came out from Old Virginia more than a century ago, and had been men of education and parts. "The later generations," she said, "haint had the ghost of a chance, shut away here without no l'arning, and so hard put to it to keep bread in their mouths that half of 'em never hears what's happening yan side the mountain. It don't look like it's right for young ones to grow up this way, without no show at all. I am determined mine shall get one."