Jepson made no comment, but turned back to the broad hearth, slowly divesting himself of his powder-horn and shot-pouch. The firelight glanced upon his full blue eyes; the fairness of his brow contrasted sharply with his sun-embrowned cheeks, and had a definite line across it where the brim of his hat had ceased to cast its shade. The spurs on the heels of his long boots, that reached to his knee, gave out a dull metallic glitter. His brown jeans coat was begirt by a broad leather belt, and his massive, well-formed figure seemed taller than usual, since the others, seated, were fain to look up. Mrs. Bowles’s eyes had a certain speculation in their bead-like brightness, as she sat silently gazing at him for a time. Then suddenly, “Ye needn’t be holdin’ yer jaw, Teck. I know jes’ ez well ez ef I hed seen him ez that thar Bob air a-lyin’ thar broad awake, like a fox, or possum, or suthin’, though he hev been tole forty times”—she lifted her voice that the youth should hear—“ez the devil will kem arter him an’ ketch him ef he waits ter go ter sleep till the house be dark. I tell ye now what I’m a-goin’ ter do. I’m a-goin’ ter put him out’n doors, ter keep company with them t’other night rampagers,—bars, ez eat fat boys, an ’painters, an’ sech. An’ Bob’ll feel powerful lonesome out thar in the dark mountings, a-tryin’ ter git away from ’em, this road an’ that. His legs air short, an’ he can’t run fas’. An’ he be so fat he mus’ be toler’ble heavy ter hisself ter tote.” There was a vague stir under the quilts. Even the small stoic could but writhe a little in prophetic anguish at this prospect. Jepson turned abruptly, strode again to the bed, caught the child by the collar of his nightgown, and the next moment Bob was sitting in his chair before the fire, looking very rotund in his straight garment, and gazing with wide, apprehensive eyes at his stepmother, expectant of the blow that always came when she was thwarted. She did not deal it now. She was constrained by the eye of the man as he stood once more on the hearth, busying himself with the strap that held his powder-horn. “An’ when enny bars, or painters, or devils, or folks take arter ye, Bob, jes’ call on me, sir, an’ I’ll tend ter ’em.” He glanced down, and nodded convincingly. Bob looked up at the big man with a grave and plump countenance. He gave a little sigh of relief, but he did not venture upon words. His pink toes were more rosy in the light of the fire, and now and then curled in the enjoyment of the warmth, for the night was chilly on the mountain. His great wakeful eyes dwelt on the flames. He filled his little armchair very comfortably, and his hair, standing up straight in front, gave him a quaintly grotesque look.