“Oh yes, I won't do it ag'in,” answered Pole, in an almost absent-minded tone. His eyes were now on Floyd, and, despite his assumed lightness of manner, the real condition of things was bearing heavily on him. Just then a rough-looking farmer, in a suit of home-made jeans, straw hat, and shoes worn through at the bottom, came back to them. He held in his hand the point of a plough, and looked nervously about him. “Everybody's busy down in front,” he said, “an' I want to git a quarter's wuth o' coffee.” His glance, full of curiosity, was on Floyd's face. “I want to stay till Wade comes, _myself_, but my old woman's almost got a spasm. She says she seed, enough bloodshed an' carnage durin' the war to do her, an' then she always liked Mr. Floyd. She says she'd mighty nigh as soon see an own brother laid out as him. Mr. Floyd sorter done us a favor two year back when he stood fer us on our corn crop, an', as fer me, why, of course, I--” “Look here, Bill Champ,” Pole burst out in a spontaneous laugh, “I thought you had more sense than to swallow a joke like that. Go tell yore old woman that I started that tale jest fer pure fun. Nelson here an' Wade is good friends.” “Oh, well, ef that's it, I'm sold,” the farmer said, sheepishly. “But from the way Mel Jones an' some more talked down thar a body would think you fellers was back here takin' Mr. Floyd's measure fer his box. I'll go quiet my wife. She couldn't talk of a thing all the way here this mornin' but a new dress she was goin' to git, an' now she's fer hurryin' back without even pickin' out the cloth.” “No, I don't like this sort o' thing,” old Mayhew growled as the customer moved away. “An' I want you to remember that, Baker.” “Oh, you dry up, old man!” Pole retorted, with sudden impatience. “You'd live longer an' enjoy life better ef you'd joke more. Ef the marrow o' my bones was as sour as yore'n is I'd cut my throat or go into the vinegar business.” At this juncture Captain Duncan came in the store and walked back to the trio. “Good-morning,” he said, cheerily. “Say, Floyd, I've heard the news, and thought if you wanted to borrow a pair of real good, old-fashioned duelling pistols, why, I've got some my father owned. They were once used by General--” “It's all a joke, captain,” Pole broke in, winking at the planter, and casting a look of warning at the now unobservant Mayhew. “Oh, is _that_ it?” Duncan was quick of perception. “To tell you the truth, I thought so, boys. Yes, yes--” He was studying Floyd's calm face admiringly. “Yes, it sounded to me like a prank somebody was playing. Well, I thought I'd go fishing this evening, and came in to get some hooks and lines. Fine weather, isn't it? but the river's muddy. I'll go down and pick out some tackle.” He had just gone when an old woman, wearing a cheap breakfast shawl over her gray head, a dress of dingy solid-black calico, and a pair of old, heavy shoes, approached from the door in the rear.