"You're so nice to me," she cried softly. "But you're mistaken in what you told Miss Alice. I'm little, and mean. I'm just beginnin' to l'arn about myself. I'm a-findin' that half o' the fruit o' the tree o' knowledge is _tears_. Listen, will you--mountain dialect again! I wonder if I'll ever quit thinking in it? Understand me, Little Buck; I'm not exactly ashamed of the mountain dialect." Wolfe laughed. "You can't go all the way at one leap, Tot, of course; be patient, and keep trying!" "In some ways, I'm worse than I used to be," she said dejectedly. "I've got so afraid of the dark that it was easy enough for me to make myself believe that I kept close to you and Miss Alice because I didn't dare to stay far enough behind to be out of hearing. I wasn't afraid of the night when I lived back here in these hills. I wonder a lot about that, Little Buck. Maybe it was because I was a part of the night myself then!" Wolfe looked at her with increased interest. She was beginning to show new facets. There was something quite wonderful about her. "I'll be falling in love with you, Tot," he told her, "the very first thing you know." "That's not likely," laughed Tot. She hurried past him, and soon disappeared around a sharp bend in the narrow trail. Wolfe walked on rapidly, and overtook the rest of the party just as the deep music of the dog's baying fell upon the chilly air. The voice of Alex Singleton boomed out, "By the Eternal, ef he hain't treed a'ready! Treed by sight! Hold the 'possum, Rock! Hi, thar, Rock--don't ye lose him! Good old dawg, Rock!" "I'll be durned ef this here hain't good luck," said Granny Wolfe. "Light out atter him, Alex!" They followed their guide, who turned to his right and picked his way through a copse of laurel, and drew up at a persimmon tree laden with frost-bitten fruit. Singleton kept his lantern swaying behind him, while his alert gaze searched the branches of the tree for a pair of round and glistening black eyes. He wished he had a good pine torch! "I see him!" he cried finally. "Le's hide the lights onder our hats, Mr. Fair, and everybody look right in the tiptop o' the tree." They saw between them and the starry sky a round, dark bulk that was as motionless as the mountain under their feet. The old hillman passed his lantern to Colonel Mason, sat down, and removed his boots. A few minutes, and he had climbed to a point within ten feet of the persimmon-eater. "Look out below thar!" he shouted. He began to shake the uppermost branch with both hands. There was a sudden dull thump on the ground below. With a yelp of delight, the spotted dog dashed forward and seized the little animal by the throat. The opossum stiffened, and feigned death perfectly, but the hound was not one whit deceived. Alex Singleton climbed down, tied a stick in the 'possum's mouth to prevent its sharp teeth doing damage, pulled on his boots, rose and led the others proudly to another persimmon. For one night, old Alex was king.