He did not interpret her expression aright; he only saw that she was at a loss. “Hain’t ye never hearn what happened at the forge arter Pa’son Donnard ’lowed he seen the devil thar?” “Naw,” she said, fixing her eyes gravely on him. Her interest in the subject emboldened him to sit beside her on the log, but as he bent forward, leaning his elbows on his knees and looking at her, he only saw her profile; for she listened silently, flattering him with her air of attention, but did not turn her head. “Waal, arter the pa’son seen the devil thar I felt toler’ble tormented, an’ sorter kep’ a lookout on the forge; an’ one night, ’bout midnight” (Marcella’s foot stirred uneasily amongst the pine cones; her face was a trifle paler than its wont; her lips were slightly compressed), “I hearn the hammer an’ the sledge a-poundin’ an’ the bellows a-roarin’, an’ fur all ’twar a moonlight night”— “Oh, moonlight!” exclaimed Marcella with a note of relief. “Yes-sum, bright moonlight—but I could see the forge fire a-flarin’ through the chinkin’. Waal, I dunno what got inter me, but I felt obligated ter know ef that thar dead Clem Sanders—Ye hearn’ bout _him_, didn’t ye, what pa’son purtended ter see?” He spoke with acerbity and a curling lip. Marcella nodded. “I wanted ter see ef _he_ war thar agin, with the devil mebbe a-strikin’ fur him. Waal, I war so darned clumsy an’ awk’ard I fell down flop agin the window-shutter; an’ I hev got purty fur ter fall, an’ thar’s a heap o’ me ter topple, an’ I like ter hev busted the side o’ the house down. An’ when I got up thar war no light, nor sound, nor nuthin’; jes’ a leetle mite o’ a live-coal on the ha’th, an’ the anvil a-singin’. Waal, I lowed ’twar Satan, till Jube Donnard—ye know, the pa’son’s son, a darned tattler!—he went an’ tole it all ter his dad. An’ ef ye’ll b’lieve me, that thar godly old man did go an’ prop hisself on the side o’ the mounting ter git a view o’ Satan,—wanted ter see him!” “The pa’son!” exclaimed Marcella, vaguely scandalized. “Yes-sum, the pa’son! An’ I tole Jube I would never listen ter him preach no mo’—enny godly man ez hankered ter view the devil agin, arter hevin’ viewed him wunst! An’ a-skitterin’ out in the middle o’ the night, like he war one o’ the boys, along with that thar caper-y Jube! Sometimes I feel like _I_ be too pious _myself_ ter ’sociate with the pa’son’s son. An’ Jube up-ed an’ ’lowed ez he didn’t keer whether I went ter hell through neglectin’ means o’ grace an’ the pa’son’s sermons or jes’ from active wickedness, an’ ez his fambly hed no contrac’, ez he knowed on, ter land _me_ on the golden shore! Jube say him an’ his mam ain’t the pa’son, an’ nuthin’ like it, an’ the congregation hain’t got a mortgage on nare hair o’ thar heads, though the pa’son ’lows ez his flock owns him.”