“Not yit, Jimmy Lash; not yit,” grunted Dick Martin, as he raked an armful of unhusked corn into his and Melissa's laps. Then to Melissa in an undertone: “Ef wishin' 'u'd do any good, I'd be the fust to run acrost one, fur, by jingo! the' ain't a livin' man, Melissa, that could want it as bad as I do with you a-settin' so handy. By glory! [aloud] here she is, as red as sumac an' as long as a rollin' pin. The Lord be praised!” He had risen to his feet and stood holding up the trophy for Bagley's inspection, fairly aglow with triumph and exercise. The rustling in the corn husks ceased. All eyes were directed upon the erect forms of Dick Martin and Farmer Bagley. The clear moonlight revealed an unpleasant expression on the older man's face in vivid contrast to the cast of the younger's. Bagley seemed rather slow to form a decision; all present suspected the cause of his hesitation. “Fair's fair, Bagley!” called out an old farmer outside of the circle. “Don't belittle yorese'f by 'lowin' anything o' a personal natur' to come in an' influence you ag'in right. Dick Martin's the fust an' is entitled to the prize.” “Yore right, Wilson,” admitted Bagley, with his eyes downcast. “Dick Martin is the winner an' kin proceed; howsomever, thar's some things that----” Salute yore bride an' kiss her sweet, Now you may rise upon yore feet! sang the leader of the singers, completely drowning the remainder of Bagley's sentence. As quick as a flash of lightning Dick had thrown his arm round struggling Melissa and imprinted a warm kiss on her lips. Then the workers applauded vociferously, and Melissa sat, suffused with crimson, between sullen Bill Miller and beaming Dick Martin. Bagley showed plainly that Dick's action and the applause of all had roused his dislike for Dick even deeper than ever. “I'm knowed to be a man o' my word,” he fumed, white in the face and glancing round the ring of upturned faces. “I'm firm as firm kin be, I mought say as the rock o' Bralty, when I take a notion. I've heerd a leetle o' the talk in this settlement 'mongst some o' the meddlin' sort, an' fur fear this leetle accident mought add to the'r tattle I'd jest like to remark that ef thar's a man on the top side o' the earth that knows what's to be done with his own flesh an' blood it ort to be me. What's been the talk ain't so, not a speck of it. I've got somethin' to say to----” “Paw!” expostulated Melissa, almost crying. “Mr. Bagley--I say, Abrum Bagley, don't make a born fool o' yorese'f,” broke in Mrs. Bagley, as she waddled into the circle and laid her hand heavily upon her husband's arm. “Now, folks, it's about time you wuz gittin' somethin' warm into you. You kin finish the pile atter you've eat. Come on, all hands, to the house!”