“He say ‘Yes’m,’” cried Isabel, with a jocund outburst. She was in high feather because of her success. Andy Longwood was far more entertaining to her when he was in this hilarious humor, instead of the pathetic sentimental moods which he had of late affected. She was evidently going on to improve her advantage, when Marcella remonstrated. “I can’t abide,” she said, “ter hear ennybody laffed at ahint thar backs. It don’t ’pear right ter me.” Longwood’s hair was tossed backward, like the mane of an angry horse; he looked up, with a flushing cheek. “Ye mean ter say, Marcelly, ez I be ’feard ter laff at Clem Sanders ter his face? Now I ain’t, fur I hev done it a many a time.” “An’ me, too,” protested Isabel, with arrogant temerity, as if this were important. “I laffed at him las’ time he war hyar.” “I ain’t sayin’ ye war afeard, Andy.” Marcella sought to soothe his wounded feelings. “It jes’ ’pears ter me sorter deceitful.” “Shucks!” cried the capable Isabel. “Clem’s powerful deceitful hisse’f. So mealy-mouthed hyar ye’d think he war a lam’, or jes’ a mild deedie or suthin’; but pass by that thar forge, sir, an’ ye kin hear him hollerin’ a mile off, an’ talkin’ like a plumb coffee-mill,—elbowin’ an’ jostlin’ the men about, the headin’est one o’ the lot! Tuk Jube, the pa’son’s son, one day, sir, an’ put him in a sack, an’ with all them foolish fellers a-followin’ he kerried sack, Jube, an’ all down ter the shallow spread o’ the ruver, an’ flung him in. But Clem’s hollerin’ that time warn’t ekal ter Jube’s ez he kem out the bag an’ waded ashore. Then Clem, he kerns up hyar lookin’ like—like pie, he’s so good an’ desirable. Can’t tell me nuthin’ ’bout that thar gamesome Clem, an’ I’ll laff at him all I’m a mind ter.” Andy Longwood’s variable spirits had again declined. He was moodily appreciative of the fact that these robust pranks were not subject for ridicule in the same degree as the burly blacksmith’s quaking humility and tongue-tied meekness in the presence of his lady-love and her feminine relations. The bluff, blustery fun which he relished was not without its fascinations to the boy-lover, and induced an emulative grudging. He realized, too, the possibility that Clem’s bold freedom among men might contrast favorably, in Marcella’s estimation, with the solicitous cowardice that she alone could inspire in that doughty heart, and he looked with lowering antagonism at Isabel, as if she had recited some noble exploit of his rival’s, calculated to put him at a disadvantage and destroy his prospects. “Oh, yes, Is’bel, ye saw it, I reckon,” he sneered, with a sudden gust of temper. “Ye kin see mos’ ennythin’, ef ye be jes’ willin’ ter take half on trest. I’ll be bound he hed a dog or suthin’ in that sack, an’ ye saw Jube arterward. Clem couldn’t tote Jube. Ye jes’ saw Jube wadin’.” “Naw, ’twar jes’ ez I say,” Isabel hastily insisted.