"For heaven's sake, don't," protested the girl. "We've had quarrelling enough as it is--and, tell me, Aunt Saidie, have you ever known what it was all about?" Miss Saidie was examining the rent with an eye to a possible mending, and she did not look up as she answered. "I never understood exactly myself, but your grandpa says they squandered all their money and then got mad because they had to sell the place. That's about the truth of it, I reckon." "The Hall belonged to them once, didn't it?" "Oh, a long time ago, when they were rich. Sakes alive, Maria, what's the matter with your face?" "I struck it getting away from the hounds. It's too bad, isn't it? And Jack coming so soon, too. Do I look very ugly?" "You're a perfect fright now, but I'll fix you a liniment to draw the bruise away. It will be all right in a day or two. I declare, if you haven't gone and brought a little po'-folksy yellow dog into the house." Maria was feeding Agag with bits of chicken from her plate, bending over him as he huddled against her dress. "I found him in the road," she returned, "and I'm going to keep him. I saved him from the hounds." "Well, it seems to me you might have got a prettier one," remarked Miss Saidie, as she went down to mix the liniment. It was several mornings after this that Fletcher, coming into the dining-room where Maria sat at a late breakfast, handed her a telegram, and stood waiting while she tore it open. "Jim Weatherby brought it over from the crossroads," he said. "It got there last night." "I hope there's nobody dead, child," observed Miss Saidie, from the serving-table, where she was peeling tomatoes. "More likely it points to a marriage, eh, daughter?" chuckled Fletcher jocosely. The girl folded the paper and replaced it carefully in the envelope. "It's from Jack Wyndham," she said, "and he comes this evening. May I take the horses to the crossroads, grandpa?" "Well, I did have a use for them," responded Fletcher, in high good-nature, "but, seeing as your young fellow doesn't come every day, I reckon I'll let you have 'em out." Maria flinched at his speech; and then as the clear pink spread evenly in her cheeks, she spoke in her composed tones. "I may as well tell you, grandpa, that we shall marry almost immediately," she said. CHAPTER III. Fletcher's Move and Christopher's Counterstroke Not until September, when he lounged one day with a glass of beer in the little room behind Tom Spade's country store, did Christopher hear the news of Maria's approaching marriage. It was Sol Peterkin who delivered it, hiccoughing in the enveloping smoke from several pipes, as he sat astride an overturned flour barrel in one corner.