“‘Twon’t do to let Leech get too far ahead—I’m always telling you so.” Young Still was beginning to show some jealousy of Leech of late. “Ahead? He ain’t ahead. He just thinks he is.” The speaker’s voice changed. “What’s the matter with Virgy these days? I’ve done set her up in the biggest house in the county, and brought the man who’s goin’ to be one of the biggest men in the State to want her to marry him, and she won’t have nothin’ to do with him. It clean beats my time. I don’t know what’s got into her. She ain’t never been the same since I brought her here. Looks like these pictures round here sort o’ freezes her up.” As he glanced around Hiram Still looked as if he were freezing up a little himself. “She’s a fool,” said the brother, amiably. “I thought maybe she’s been kind o’ ailin’ an’ I’d git the old Doctor to come and see her. Say what you please, he have a kind o’ way with him women folks seems to like. But she won’t hear of it.” “She’s just a fool. Let her alone for awhile, anyhow.” His father looked at him keenly. “Well, you go ahead—and as soon as you’ve got your filly safe, we’ll take up t’other horse—time enough. Thar’s the bridle.” He touched the notes on the table and winked at his son. Dr. Still, armed with the assurance which the possession of Dr. Cary’s notes gave, drove over to Birdwood the very next evening in a double buggy. He was met by Dr. Cary, who treated him with his usual graciousness, and who so promptly assumed that the visit was merely a professional one that the caller never found the opportunity to undeceive him. When Washington Still arrived at home that night his father was watching for him with eagerness. He met him as the buggy drove up into the yard; but Wash’s face was sphinx-like. It was not until nearly bedtime, when the father had reinforced his courage with several drinks of whiskey, that he got courage to open the subject directly. “Well, what news?” he asked, with an attempt at joviality. “None,” said Wash, shortly. “How’d you come out?” “Same way I went in.” This was not encouraging, but another glass added to Mr. Still’s spirit. “How was she lookin’?” “Didn’t see her.—Didn’t see anybody but the old Doctor; never do see anybody but him—and the old nigger that opens the door. He thought I’d come over to consult him about that sick nigger down at the mill, so I let him think so. I wish the d—d nigger would die!” “And you didn’t even ask for her?” The young man shifted in his chair. “What’s the use! That old fool’s got a way with him. You know how it is. If he wa’n’t so d—d polite!” “Ah! Washy, you’re skeered,” said the father, fondly. “You can’t bridle a filly if you’re afeard to go in, boy. If you don’t git up the grit I’ll go over thar myself, first thing you know. Why don’t you write her a letter?” “What’s the good! I know’m. She wouldn’t look at me. She’s for _Lord_ Jacquelin or Captain Steve Allen.”