Braile had been walking up and down again in his excitement, in his enjoyment of the psychological predicament, and again he stopped before Dylks. “Why, you poor bag of shorts!” he said. “I could almost feel sorry for you, in spite of the mischief you've made. Why, _you_ oughtn't to be sent to the penitentiary, or even lynched. _You_ ought to be put amongst the county idiots in the poorhouse, and--” There came a soft plapping as of bare feet on the puncheon floor of the porch; hesitating about and then pausing at the door of the opposite room. Then there came with the increased smell of cooking, the talking of women. Presently the talking stopped and the plapping of the bare feet approached the door of the room shutting the two men in. The Squire set it slightly ajar, in spite of Dylks's involuntary, “Oh, don't!” and faced some one close to the opening. “That you, Sally? You haven't come to borrow anything at _this_ hour of the night?” “Well, I reckon if you was up as early as Mis' Braile, you'd know it was broad day. No, I hain't come to borry anything exactly, but I was just tellin' _her_ that if she'd lend me a fryun' of bacon, I'd do as much for her some day. She ast me to tell you your breakfast was ready and not to wait till your comp'ny was gone, but bring anybody you got with you.” Sally peered curiously in at the opening of the door, and Braile abruptly set it wide. “Perhaps you'd like to see who it is.” Sally started back at sight of the figure within. When she could get her breath she gasped, “Well, for mercy's sakes! If it ain't the Good Old Man, himself!” But she made no motion of revering or any offer of saluting her late deity. “Well, now, if you've got some bacon for Abel's breakfast you better stop and have yours with us,” the Squire suggested. “No, I reckon not,” Sally answered. “I ain't exactly sure Abel would like it. He ain't ever been one of the Flock, although at the same time he ain't ever been one of the Herd: just betwixt and between, like.” As she spoke she edged away backward. “Well, I must be goun', Squire. Much obleeged to you all the same.” The Squire followed her backward steps with his voice. “If you should happen to see Jim Redfield on his way to his tobacco patch, I wish you'd tell him to come here; I'd like to see him.” He went in again to Dylks. “What are you going to do with me, Squire Braile?” he entreated. “You're not going to give me up?” “I know my duty to my Maker,” the old man answered. “I'll take care of you, Jehovah Dylks. But now you better come in to breakfast--get some _hot_ pone. I'll bring you a basin of water to wash up in.”