He bowed low and swept the room with a mocking gesture. “There ain't no room for ye,” the old woman persisted. Jim raised his voice to a squeaking falsetto with deliberate purpose to torment her. “I got ye the first time, darlin'!” he exclaimed, lifting his hands above her as if to hold her down. “We must linger awhile for your name--anyhow, we mustn't forget that. This is Mrs. Nance Owens?” The old woman started and watched him from beneath her heavy eyebrows, answering with sullen emphasis: “Yes.” Again Jim lifted his hands above his head and waved her to earth. “Well! Don't blame me! I can't help it, you know----” He turned to his wife and spoke with jolly good humor. “It's the place, all right. Set down, Kiddo--take off your hat and things. Make yourself at home.” Nance flew at him in a sudden frenzy at his assumption of insolent ownership of her cabin. “There's no place for ye to sleep!” she fairly shrieked in his face. Again Jim's arms were over her head, waving her down. “All right, sweetheart! We're from New York. We don't sleep. We've come all the way down here to the mountains of North Carolina just to see you. And we're goin' to sit up all night and look at ye----” He sat down deliberately, and Nance fumbled her hands with a nervous movement. Mary's heart went out in sympathy to the forlorn old creature in her embarrassment. Her dress was dirty and ragged, an ill-fitting gingham, the elbows out and her bare, bony arms showing through. The waist was too short and always slipping from the belt of wrinkled cloth beneath which she kept trying to stuff it. Mary caught her restless eye at last and held it in a friendly look. “Please let us stay!” she pleaded. “We can sleep on the floor--anywhere.” “You bet!” Jim joined in. “Married two weeks--and I don't care whether it rains or whether it pours or how long I have to stand outdoors--if I can be with you, Kid.” The old woman hesitated until Mary's smile melted its way into her heart. Her lips trembled, and her watery blue eyes blinked. “Well,” she began grumblingly, “thar's a little single bed in that shed-room thar for you--ef he'll sleep in here on the sofy.” Jim leaped to his feet. “What do ye think of that? Bully for the old gal! Kinder slow at first. As the poet sings of the little bed-bug, she ain't got no wings--but she gets there just the same!” He drew the electric torch from his pocket and advanced on Nance. “By Golly--I'll have another look at you.” Nance backed in terror at the sight of the revolver-like instrument. “What's that?” she gasped. “Just a little Gatlin' gun!” he cried jokingly. He pressed the button, and the light flashed squarely in the old woman's eyes. “God 'lmighty--don't shoot!” she screamed. Jim doubled with laughter. “For the love o' Mike!” Nance leaned against the side table and wiped the perspiration from her brow. “Lord! I thought you'd kilt me!” she panted, still trembling.