Mrs. Gray and the Deacon turned in now to quiet Bill, and the settlement went on. Jim kept close watch on the proceedings, and muttered his dissent to his friends, but was careful not to provoke Bill further. In dividing the harnesses they came upon a cow-bell hanging on a nail. The Deacon jingled it as he passed. "Goes with the bell-cow," he said, and nothing further was said of it. Jim apparently did not consider it worth quarrelling about. At last the work was done, a terribly hard day's work. The machines and utensils were piled in separate places, the cattle separated, and the grain measured. As they were about to leave, the Deacon said finally:-- "If there's any complaint to make, let's have it right now. I want this settlement to _be_ a settlement. Is everybody satisfied?" "I am," said Emmy. "Ain't you, Serry?" "Why, of course," said Sarah, who was a little slower of speech. "I think the Deacon has done first rate. I ain't a word of fault to find, have you, Bill?" "Nope, not an ioty," said Bill, readily. Jim did not agree in so many words, but, as he said nothing, the Deacon ended:-- "Well, that settles it. It ain't goin' to rain, so you can leave these things right here till Monday. I guess I'll be gettin' out for home. Good evening, everybody." Emma drove away down the road with Jim, but Sarah remained to straighten up the house. Harkey's hired hand went home with Dade Walker who considered that walk the pleasant finish to a very interesting day's work. She sympathized for the time with the Harkey faction. Sunday forenoon, when Bill and Sarah drove up to the farm to put things in order in the house, they found Ike Harkey walking around with that queer side glance he had, studying the piles of furniture, and mentally weighing the pigs. He greeted them smoothly: "Yes, yes, I'm _purr_fickly satisfied, _purr_fickly! Not a word to say--better'n I expected," he added. Bill was not quite keen enough to perceive the insult which lay in that final clause, and Sarah dared not inform him for fear of trouble. As Harkey drove away, however, Bill had a dim feeling of dissatisfaction with him. "He's too gol-dang polite, that feller is; I don't like such butter-mouth chaps--they'd steal the cents off'n a dead nigger's eyes." III