“No, sir. She got ’nough to fret her a’ready, Miss Hetty has. I’m ’fraid for her ’bout the man. _She_ aint ’fraid o’ nothin’. ‘You do what I tell you, Homer,’ sez she, ‘an’ I’ll stan’ between you an’ harm,’ she say. But she aint know ’bout the devil. Nor I aint heerd o’ the murder when she tell me _that_. That mought make a dif’rence.” “She is all right, all the same. She is always right. Mind her, and you’re sure to be safe. When did you last see this man who is so well acquainted with the devil?” An uneasy pause, during which Homer cracked each one of the knuckle-joints in his left hand. “I dunno! I don’ jis reklec’! You won’t mention him to Miss Hetty—nor to nobody—will you please not, Mr. Gilchris’? He’s an orful man! He’d get even with Miss Hetty, some way, sure’s you born, Mr. Gilchris’? ‘Nurver you let on a word to _her_!’ sez he to me—‘or ’twill be the wustest day she ever see,’ he sez.” “Why, this is outrageous!” ejaculated the aroused listener. “Do you suppose I will allow this sort of thing to go on? I insist upon knowing who the wretch is! He’ll find himself behind bars before he is a day older, if I get hold of him.” “_Now_”—resumed Homer, dazed and dull—“you’d better not meddle nor make with him. Me’n’ Miss Hetty, we could manage ’bout him, but when he sot ’bout fetchin’ the devil in—that aint a fa’r shake—_that_ aint! I’ll say that much, ef I die fer it—’taint by no means ‘fa’r nor squar’!” “Pshaw!” March laughed in vexed amusement. “Did you ever know the devil to do the fair and square thing? Or any of the devil’s men? Why didn’t you set Mr. Wayt after your friend? It’s his trade to fight Old Nick, you know.” “Yes, sir. So I been heerd tell. What’s _that_?” It was the sound of the gate-latch falling into the socket, and firm quick footsteps. “O Lord!” whispered Homer again. “Don’t let on as I’ve been here!” In a twinkling, he had gone up the tree like a cat. By the time March recognized the latest comer, the rustling boughs were still. Thor growled fiercely. His master advanced a step into the moonlight. “Be quiet!” to the dog. “Good-evening, Mr. Wayt! The beauty of the night has tempted you out, as well as myself.” “Ah, Mr. Gilchrist!”—suave and stately as usual. “As you say, it is a glorious night. I have been sitting for half an hour with your respected parents. Seeing you change color suddenly during the morning service, and missing you from church this afternoon, I feared lest you had been taken ill, and so went over to inquire.