Miss Sally opened her eyes demurely. “Why, yo' seemed SO quiet, I reckoned yo' must be full of business this morning; but if yo' prefer company talk, we'll change the subject. They say that yo' and Miss Reed didn't have much trouble to find one last Sunday. She don't usually talk much, but she keeps up a power of thinking. I should reckon,” she added, suddenly eying him critically, “that yo' and she might have a heap o' things to say to each other. She's a good deal in yo' fashion, co'nnle, she don't forget, but”--more slowly--“I don't know that THAT'S altogether the best thing for YO'!” Courtland lifted his eyes with affected consternation. “If this is in the light of another mysterious warning, Miss Dows, I warn you that my intellect is already tottering with them. Last Sunday Miss Reed thrilled me for an hour with superstition and Cassandra-like prophecy. Don't things ever happen accidentally here, and without warning?” “I mean,” returned the young lady with her usual practical directness, “that Tave Reed remembers a good many horrid things about the wah that she ought to forget, but don't. But,” she continued, looking at him curiously, “she allows she was mighty cut up by her cousin's manner to yo'.” “I am afraid that Miss Reed was more annoyed than I was,” said Courtland. “I should be very sorry if she attached any importance to it,” he added earnestly. “And YO' don't?” continued Miss Sally. “No. Why should I?” She noticed, however, that he had slightly drawn himself up a little more erect, and she smiled as he continued, “I dare say I should feel as he does if I were in his place.” “But YO' wouldn't do anything underhanded,” she said quietly. As he glanced at her quickly she added dryly: “Don't trust too much to people always acting in yo' fashion, co'nnle. And don't think too much nor too little of what yo' hear here. Yo' 're just the kind of man to make a good many silly enemies, and as many foolish friends. And I don't know which will give yo' the most trouble. Only don't yo' underrate EITHER, or hold yo' head so high, yo' don't see what's crawlin' around yo'. That's why, in a copperhead swamp, a horse is bitten oftener than a hog.” She smiled, yet with knitted brows and such a pretty affectation of concern for her companion that he suddenly took heart. “I wish I had ONE friend I could call my own,” he said boldly, looking straight into her eyes. “I'd care little for other friends, and fear no enemies.” “Yo' 're right, co'nnle,” she said, ostentatiously slanting her parasol in a marvelous simulation of hiding a purely imaginative blush on a cheek that was perfectly infantine in its unchanged pink; “company talk is much pootier than what we've been saying. And--meaning me--for I reckon yo' wouldn't say that of any other girl but the one yo' 're walking with--what's the matter with me?” He could not help smiling, though he hesitated. “Nothing! but others have been disappointed.” “And that bothers YO'?”