“She was standin’ in the doorway, her head buried in her apron, cryin’ like her heart ’ud break. The minute I set eyes on her I forgot all about the fire an’ thot unly o’ her. I jest stood there awkward an’ looked at the girl, fer I was spelled agin, unly worse. “‘Pet,’ I sais, after a bit, ‘what’s wrong?’ “‘Wrong,’ she cries th’oo her apron. ‘They’s all gone--the cow, the pig, the chickens--gone fer the walley. Soon the clearin’ ’ll go too.’ “With that she raised her hand an’ pinted th’oo the woods, over the flats to the solid wall o’ fire. “Then I laughed. An’ I hed the right to laugh, fer ez I looked at them flames dartin’ among the trees it seemed like they was the best friends I ever had. “‘It’s mean to cheat sech good fellers out o’ sech a nice clearin’,’ I sais to meself ez I run along the wood road puttin’ the torch to the dry leaves. ‘It’s mean, but I can’t spend the rest o’ me life settin’ on the pump-trough watchin’ the moon.’ “An’ cheat ’em I did. The leaves an’ the under-brush cot like powder, an’ the counter-fire went runnin’ over the flats towards the mo’ntain to tell the ole fire snakes that it wasn’t no uset to try to git to the clearin’ fer they was no path to it ’cept over ashes. “We stood there in the wood-road watchin’ it--Pet on one side, then Major, then me. Fer a long time we sayd nawthin’, tell I couldn’t stand it no more. “‘Pet,’ sais I, wery abrupt, ‘do you think now I’m so awful slow?’ “‘It ain’t them ez runs fastest allus goes the straightest an’ truest,’ she answers. “It wasn’t wery much to say. Any girl might ’a’ done jest the same thing. But from the way she looked, I knowd I’d got my Missus.” CHAPTER V. _The Awfullest Thing._ The Chronic Loafer sat upon the anvil. A leather apron was tied about his neck, and behind him stood the Blacksmith, nipping at his great shock of hair with a tiny pair of scissors. He was facing the Tinsmith and the Miller, who had climbed up on the carpenter bench, and by twisting his neck at the risk of his balance, he could see the tall, thin man standing by the mule which the helper was shoeing. The stranger had hair that reached to his shoulders, a clean-shaven upper lip, a long beard and a benign aspect that denoted him a Dunkard. He had been telling a few stories of the recent events in Raccoon Valley, whence he hailed. “So it ain’t sech a slow-goin’, out-o’-the-way placet ez you unsez think--still,” he said. The Blacksmith thoughtfully turned to address him. “Well, stranger----” “Ow--ow!” cried the Loafer. “Is you a barber or a butcher?” “Sights!” exclaimed the worthy smith. “Now that was a jag I give ye, wasn’t it?” He resumed his task with redoubled vigor. The Loafer closed his eyes and commenced to sputter. “Mighty souls! Go easy. Are you tryin’ to choke me?” “Sights!” said the other in apologetic tones, “I didn’t notice. Now I did come near chokin’ ye, didn’t I? I was interested in Raccoon Walley.” Then he began to clip very slowly.