“I’ll be bound everything air burnt ter a crisp,” said the officious Isabel, but looking hopefully over her shoulder into the dusky brown interior. It was lighted only by the smouldering fire, that cast a gigantic shadow of the slight Marcella upon ceiling and walls, and a grotesquely magnified and frightful image of the old hound. For the dog of the “frequent visitor” was singularly accomplished in accurately understanding the English language, and had sprung up with much youthful alacrity upon the mere mention of supper. He had followed the girl into the room, and sat beside the hearth, watching with anticipative delight each dish as it was borne to the table, licking his chaps with a zestful expression; now rising up suddenly, and then composing himself to sit down again, while his shadow on the wall made queer genuflections and obeisances to the table, with all the ardent spirit of a gourmand. Without, the old woman seized the opportunity. She sat for a moment demurely silent; then, shaking with her internal chuckle, she said in a low tone to Teck,— “Marcelly’s plumb outdone, I know, ’kase _ye_ hev fund out ez she war streck with yer good looks, Teck, an’ called ye han’some. Laws-a-massy, gals air mighty purblind an’ foolish critters; they think the men air gin over ter studyin’ ’bout’n ’em, an’ tryin’ ter sense what they mean, when the fellers, mos’ likely, air jes’ standin’ with thar arms akimbo, a-lookin’ at the weather-signs, an’ a-wonderin’ what the chances air fur huntin’ ter-morrer.” She glanced toward Jepson with a laugh, expectant of ready acquiescence. But there was upon his face, distinct enough even in the closing shadows, an expression so haughty, so aloof and unresponsive, that the little dame was at first perturbed and troubled, but presently grew angered in turn. “A spiteful sinner!” she exclaimed to herself; “mad now, jes’ ’kase Marcelly ’lowed he hed no religion,—an’ he ain’t got none.” All her facile cleverness was roused, however, and she was mindful, too, of the interests of the approaching election. Thus, although she struck, it was with a cautious hand and a crafty insight. “But I reckon mos’ly,” she said, lowering her voice cautiously, “ez Marcelly war tormented, bein’ feared ez Clem Sanders mought hear somehows ez she hed been streck with yer good looks. I’ll be bound _that_ skeered her.”