‘How-come they so bad in ’at there Swump Hole?’ asked Harmon. ‘I guess they’ve always been that way,’ said Tim. ‘The way I heard it, Harmon, is like this. When they were fighting the Civil War, a long time ago, there were some men around here who didn’t want to fight. So they packed up and went back in River Swamp and hid out there where no one could find them. When folks went after them, they’d hide in the bushes and shoot at ’em, or maybe they’d just get in their boats and sneak around these creeks until the folks that were hunting them got tired and went away again. Well, after a while the war got over and those men just settled down in Swamp Hole and had families and everything, and then, I guess, other folks heard about it and came, too. Anyway, my father says there’s more than fifty families in Swamp Hole, and they don’t send their kids to school or pay taxes or anything like that.’ ‘Huh,’ said Harmon, ‘mus’ be mighty ign’nt folkses!’ ‘’Course they are. Guess that’s one reason they’re so bad. They’re poor, too, and maybe that’s another reason.’ ‘Poor folkses ain’ bad,’ objected Harmon. ‘N-no, but folks that are awfully poor and ignorant, _too_, sometimes are.’ Harmon didn’t challenge that. Instead, he asked: ‘How they live, Mister Tim?’ ‘I don’t know. Some of them raise a few things; tobacco, for instance. And they do a lot of fishing.’ Conversation died for a space. Then Harmon asked, ‘When you reckons we goin’ get home again, Mister Tim?’ ‘Home!’ said Tim bitterly. ‘Gosh, it doesn’t look as if we’d _ever_ get home!’ ‘I’s jus’ ’bliged to be there Monday mornin’, please, sir,’ persisted Harmon anxiously. ‘I’s got me a ’gagement with Mister Tom Pawling to cut his lawn, and Mister Tom’s pow’rful uppity if’n I ain’ keep my ’gagements!’ ‘I wish I was at home right now,’ said Tim longingly. ‘My goodness gracious, there isn’t any _sense_ in this! Sitting out here in an old swamp without any supper or any bed! Gosh, I wish I was in my own bed this minute.’ ‘Ain’ ’at the truth?’ agreed the other sympathetically. ‘Folkses is always wantin’ be where they ain’. Some time when I’s lyin’ all wrop up warm in my own bed I’s goin’ say to myself, “Lawsey, ’at certainly was one fine ol’ time me an’ Mister Tim have ’at night we was in the swump sittin’ roun’ li’l’ ol’ fire an’ talkin’!” Yes, sir, I’s certainly goin’ say ’at very thing!’ ‘Humph,’ grunted Tim with a perceptible lack of enthusiasm. ‘It won’t ever bother me any to be wrapped up warm in my own bed!’ He shivered. ‘And if I ever do get home again,’ he added emphatically, ‘I’ll be satisfied to stay there! Next time Pud Pringle gets me to go on any old cruise with him――_What’s that?_’ Tim broke off to start nervously at the sound of a soft rustling in the bushes behind him. ‘Didn’t you hear it?’ he demanded, looking around apprehensively. ‘Suppose it was a snake?’