“Ye hev all done got sot agin me hyar,” he said, “even Is’bel. Ez ter Mis’ Strobe, she never war hurt with perliteness, nohow; leastways not ter me. An’ you-uns all think heap o’ Clem Sanders, I reckon, don’t ye?” He looked up appealingly. A smile rippled across Marcella’s face; her red lips parted. Had she indeed grown so very old, after all? But the alert Isabel answered:— “I dunno what ye ’low we-uns be so admirin? o’ Clem fur, ’thout we wanted him fur a ornamint, like that thar plaster rooster what dad brung granny from Colb’ry ter set on the mankle-shelf. Clem sets ez still an’ ’pears ez good-lookin’ ez he kin, jes’ like the rooster do. Both o’ ’em seem like they mought crow toler’ble loud ef they would, but nare one of ’em do.” The “frequent visitor” was in a measure appeased. He laughed mightily at this ridicule of his rival, and then sighed deeply, partly for relief and partly for self-pity. Isabel caught the approving expression in his eyes as they met hers, and she relented from her intention of leaving the young people together, and once more kindly sat down between them. She seemed, however, disposed to earn her welcome, for as she clasped her lithe, sunburned hands over her knees, and turned her pointed chin reflectively upwards, and cast a glance toward the forge, the preternatural wisdom of her expression intensified by the two sharp eyes set so close together, she continued: “Las’ time Clem kem a-visitin’,”—she made no doubt it was partly to see herself and partly her “granny,” as well as Marcella,—“he jes’ sot up ez mum ez ye ever see ennybody, like he war ’feard o’ we-uns,”—her lips curled in relish,—“an’ said ‘Yes’m,’ an’ ‘Ma’am,’ an’ ‘No’m’, ter _me_, ez well ez ter granny; ez respec’ful, an’ humble, an’ ’feard o’ me ez ef _I_ war eighty year old.” “Oh, ho! ho!” laughed the merry “frequent visitor.” “Shet up, Is’bel,” the elder sister mechanically admonished her. “’Feard o’ gals,” pursued Isabel, in the pleasing consciousness of making herself very agreeable. “An’ he say nuthin’ ’ceptin’ ter agree with everybody, an’ look so mild an’ meek. An’ granny, she talked, an’ I talked; an’ Marcelly, she talked some, too. An’ Clem, he say, ‘Yes’m’ an’ ‘Naw’m.’ An’ he stayed, an’ stayed, an’ stayed, mighty late; till whenst he war a-goin’ away, granny, she say ter him, ‘Ye mus’ kem agin, Clem. Me an’ the gals hev mighty nigh ez interestin’ a time a-settin’ up with ye ez ef ye war a corpse. We’ll watch with ye whenst ye air dead, Clem. Ye needn’t be ’feard. We will hev got so used ter settin’ alongside o’ ye an’ yer dumb ways ez we will be plumb trained ter it. Kem up agin soon, Clem, else we-uns will git our hands out.’” It was pleasant to hear the “frequent visitor’s” laughter, so jovial a sound it was. And how his heart warmed to Mrs. Strobe! “Ain’t she smart, though! My stars! she’s ez smart ez enny man!” he exclaimed, in the hyperbole of his enthusiasm. “What did Clem say?”