“Yes; he gits that way once in a while on mighty slight provocation,” Hoag rambled on. “I was tellin' 'im t'other day, when I was down thar, about Paul Rundel comin' back, an' what a solid chap he'd turned out to be with all his bookish ideas an' odd religious notions--givin' hisse'f up to the law, an' the like. Ed didn't seem much interested till I told 'im that the women round about generally admired Paul, an' loved to hear 'im talk--like your mother does, for instance--an' that most of 'em say he has fine eyes an' is good-lookin'. Right then Ed up an' wanted to know whar Paul was livin'”--Hoag tittered--“whar he slept an' ate. An' when I told 'im he stayed here at the house with us, he had the oddest look about the eyes you ever saw. I teased 'im a little--I couldn't help it. I was in a good-humor, for he had just told me about a Northern feller that wanted to buy some o' my wild mountain-land at a good figure. But I let up on 'im after awhile, for he really was down in the mouth. 'Do you know,' said he, 'that I'd tackle any man on earth in a race for a woman quicker than I would a religious crank or a spindle-legged preacher of any denomination whatever.'” “I don't think you ought to talk me over that way,” Ethel returned, coldly. “You'll make me dislike him. He and I are good friends now, but no girl likes to have men speak of her as if she were a piece of property on the market.” “Oh, Ed Peterson is all right,” Hoag declared, his eyes on Jack, who was climbing a tree near the fence. “That child will fall and hurt hisse'f one o'these days. Oh, Jack! Come down from there--that's a good boy; come down, daddy wants you.” Looking at Ethel suddenly, he saw that she was smiling. “What in thunder is funny about _that?_” he inquired. Ethel laughed softly. “I was just thinking of your sneer at the idea of any one's loving another. You perhaps never loved any one else in your life, but your whole soul is wrapped up in Jack.” “I reckon you are right,” Hoag confessed, half sheepishly, as he started down the steps toward his son. “Sometimes I wonder what's got into me. He has sech a strange, kittenish way o' gittin' round a fellow. I believe, if I was to come home some night an' find him sick or hurt I'd go stark crazy. He ain't like no other child I ever dealt with.” “He'll be more and more of a mystery to you the older he gets,” Ethel answered. “He has a strong imagination and great talent for drawing. I'm teaching him. He loves to have me read to him, and he makes up stories out of his own head that really are wonderful.” “I always thought he'd make a smart man, a teacher, or a lawyer, or something like that,” Hoag returned, proudly, and he hurried away, calling loudly to his son to get down. CHAPTER VII