“I ain’t afeard o’ nuthin’,” he remarked triumphantly, suddenly pursuing aloud the tenor of his thoughts. His daughter stopped and stared, crestfallen, since he seemed again incoherent. “I never war afeard o’ no livin’ man, an’ I ain’t a-goin’ ter set out at my time o’ life ter git skeered at harnts. I war a-tellin’ ye jes’ now ’bout mebbe Teck Jepson’s harnt mought set out ter walk. Ef he tuk ter foolin’ round me, I’d jes’ ax him, ‘What kin ye do? What kin ye do?’” He put both hands on his knees and wagged his head from side to side, casting up that characteristic sidelong glance, as if thus defying and confronting the supposed spectre. “‘Ye couldn’t do nuthin’ ter me whilst live an’ hearty. An’ I ain’t a-goin’ ter be afeard o’ ye now ye air dead. Ef ye kem a-tromplin’ round hyar, I’ll arrest ye,—I’ll sarve papers on ye. I’m constable o’ Brumsaidge yit!’” Once more he turned abruptly, and looked out over the emptiness of the cornfield. Then he leaned back in his chair, and this idea of serving papers on the “harnt” came over him anew, and seemed to amuse him mightily. Now and again he muttered, “I’ll sarve papers on ye,” and chuckled slyly to himself. “I’ll sarve papers on ye, till ye’ll be glad ter stay in yer grave, writ proof.” “This hyar Jepson,”—he spoke aloud, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, and assuming that sly, confidential air characteristic of the rustic gossip, as he looked from one to the other of the young people,—“he tried powerful hard ter make up ter me in his last days, though I know he never used ter like me much, kase I war cousin ter M’ria White, ez married Ben Bowles, an’ put her up ter gittin’ a powerful good trade out’n Teck whenst he went ter live with them,—an’ ginerally kase I war kin ter M’ria. An’ I’ll ’low myse’f M’ria air a pritty stiff one ter stan’. Some folks useter think mebbe I mought marry M’ria myse’f, me bein’ a widower; but I say, ‘Naw, sir! I ain’t a-goin’ ter hev my pleasure at the jedgmint day plumb _de_stroyed by hevin’ ter go ter heaven with two wimmen a-clawin’ an’ tearin’ each other’s hair an’ golden harps ’bout which one owned me! Thanky! One wife’s enough. Mought be said ter be a plenty.’” He laughed with his heavy bass rumble. “But I want ter tell ye ’bout Teck,” he went on, lapsing into his tone of urgent mystery. “Oh, I tell ye, in his las’ days he made up ter me,—Teck could be ez smooth an’ slick ez a bullet when he wanted ter; an’ what fur, do ye reckon? Why, fur Marcelly. He war bound ter find favior in her eyes, so, knowin’ she set a heap o’ store by her dad’s opinion, he ondertook ter git mighty friendly with _Me_!”