Reuben on his part seemed to recognize the description, for taking a sort of intuitive bee-line through people and trees, he suddenly brought up with the question, "Phil Davids, what have you been saying about me?" "I s'pose you think folks have nothing to do but talk about you now. You're a long way out!"--was the careless answer. "What did you say I said?" said Reuben. "I never heard you say anything, as I know, that was worth tellin' over. When I do, I'll let somebody know it, I tell _you_." "I suppose that means that you won't answer my question," said Reuben. "What I want to know is, not what I said, but what you say I said." "About what?" "About Miss Faith Derrick." "I don't say you said nothing about her--I never heard you call her name, as I know." "Like enough," said Reuben, with a sort of resolute patience; "but what did you say I said that had to do with her in any way?" "Who do you think you air?" said Phil. "I tell you what, Phil Davids," said Sam Stoutenburgh, who had heard the last question or two, "if you don't keep your tongue off Miss Derrick, I'll pitch you up into a pine tree so far that you'll see stars before you come down--or I'm not Stoutenburgh nor stout, neither!" and Sam--who was a little of a young giant--backed Phil up against the tree that was nearest in a sort of preparatory way that was rather breathless. Phil however was as tough as shoe leather. "Suppos'n you keep eyes off her, then," said he struggling. "It's a poor rule that don't work both ways." "What have you been about?" said Sam,--"come, own up for once--just to try how it feels." "What have _you?_" said Phil. "I aint up to half as many shines as you, Sam Stoutenburgh." "I should think not!" said Sam disdainfully. "O let him alone, Sam!" said Reuben--"what's the use?" "Little enough use--" said Sam, "or matter either,--everybody knows Phil Davids. Pity he wouldn't make his own acquaintance!" And releasing his prisoner Sam turned disdainfully and Reuben sorrowfully towards the house. But Reuben did not go very near. A wistful look or two towards the lighted front and the clustering guests, and he paused, leaving Sam to go on alone. Sam's bashfulness was happily not of the uncompromising kind, therefore he not only found Faith, but she found him--ready to claim her promise--the very moment she was ready to go. "But I don't know whether the wagon is here, Sam," said Faith. Other wagons were come, and driving off, and a little procession of colours was setting forth on foot, up and down the street from Judge Harrison's. The hall was full of people, getting hoods on and taking leave. "Well, Miss Faith," said Sam, "we can walk to where it ought to be, and if it isn't there maybe you'll let me go further." "But I can't go without seeing my mother, Sam, and I don't know where she is." "Sam Stoutenburgh!" said Mr. Linden's voice, while the speaker laid both hands on the boy's shoulders, "what are you about?"