“How long are you in for?” she asked. “Fuhrebber, ma'm; fuh des es long es I lib,” the negro answered, looking down to where he was making marks on the ground with his toes. “And how did you get such a dreadful sentence?” “I ent do much, ma'm; I des scare a white lady.” A wave of revulsion swept over the teacher, and involuntarily she stepped back. The negro looked up and grinned. “De hatchet des cut 'e foot a little bit; but I trow de hatchet. I ent tech um; no, ma'm. Den atterwards 'e baby daid; den dey say I muss stay yer fuhrebber. I ent sorry, 'kase I know say I hab to wuck anywheys I is; if I stay yer, if I go 'way, I hab to wuck. En I know say if I git outer dis place Mr. Morris'll kill me sho--des sho. So I like fuh stay yer berry well.” And the teacher went away, wondering if her work--if _any_ work--would avail; and what answer the future would have for this awful problem. A Snipe-Hunt A Story of Jim-Ned Creek BY M. E. M. DAVIS “I ain't sayin' nothin' ag'inst the women o' Jim--Ned Creek _ez women_,” said Mr. Pinson; “an' what's more, I'll spit on my hands an' lay out any man ez'll dassen to sass 'em. But _ez wives_ the women o' Jim-Ned air the outbeatenes' critters in creation!” These remarks, uttered in an oracular tone, were received with grave approbation by the half a dozen idlers gathered about the mesquite fire in Bishop's store. Old Bishop himself, sorting over some trace-chains behind the counter, nodded grimly, and then smiled, his wintry face grown suddenly tender. “You've shore struck it, Newt,” assented Joe Trimble. “You never kin tell how ary one of 'em 'll ack under any succumstances.” Jack Carter and Sid Northcutt, the only bachelors present, grinned and winked slyly at each other. “You boys neenter to be so brash,” drawled Mr. Pinson's son-in-law, Sam Leggett, from his perch on a barrel of pecans; “jest you wait ontell Minty Cullum an' Loo Slater gits a tight holt! Them gals is ez meek ez lambs--now. But so was Mis' Pinson an' Mis' Trimble in their day an' time, I reckon. I know Becky Leggett was.” “The studdies'-goin' woman on Jim-Ned,” continued Mr. Pinson, ignoring these interruptions, “is Mis' Cullum. An' yit, Tobe Cullum ain't no safeter than anybody else--considerin' of Sissy Cullum ez a wife!” Mr. Trimble opened his lips to speak, but shut them again hastily, looking a little scared, and an awkward silence fell on the group. For the shadow of Mrs. Cullum herself had advanced through the wide door-way, and lay athwart the puncheon floor; and that lady, a large, comfortable-looking, middle-aged person, with a motherly face and a kindly smile, after a momentary survey of the scene before her, walked briskly in. She shook hands across the counter with the storekeeper, and passed the time of day all around.