“’Tis a long story,” began the old woman, “but then all of mine are that. You’re patient with a garrulous old tongue, dearie. It happened afore we come over the mountains, Dan’l and me--your real grandfather, you know, the first of my husbands. He was away at the time--he was mostly away, being that sort--and I had your father Johnny in the cradle, and another coming, as usual; when one evening toward dusk, like now, I heard a commotion in the hen yard. I seized my musket and run out. And there in the midst of the fowl crouched a wildcat! I outs with a screech and ups with my gun, not having time to take aim; and then I started to the cabin at a run, the critter after me. It was a race for life, and I reckon the painter’d have won it--his first leap landed so close that his claws tore my petticoat. But out of the door comes our old hound Jinny, rampaging, she having a litter of pups under my bed at the time and fierce as a lion with it--and the painter got her instead of me, laying her wide open with one rip. I was so mad about poor old Jinny that I forgot how scared I was, and turned and busted that cat’s head in with the butt of the gun--I did so!” Polly seemed to be listening, tensely. “You do well to hearken to me brag,” said Granny, with a placid chuckle. “For I was certainly as brave as you make ’em, those days! Like Jinny with her litter of pups. When Dan’l come back he was proud of me, said it wa’n’t no use wasting a gun on a woman of my ability, all I needed was a broom handle.” [Illustration: Slowly a head appeared above the window ledge--an Indian head, crowned with feathers. Polly stared at it as if paralyzed.] Slowly, while she spoke, a head had appeared above the window ledge--an Indian head, crowned with feathers. Polly stared at it as if paralyzed. The Indian returned her gaze, gave a swift glance about the room, made a slight movement of the head backward, and disappeared. Polly’s hand reached back to clutch convulsively at the cradle. She spoke breathlessly, haltingly: “And now--the time my Daniel grandfather disappeared--tell about that!” [Illustration: The Indian returned the girl’s gaze, then glanced swiftly about the room.] Granny sighed deeply. “What, another tale? Eh, well, it is your story, too! Dan’l had always the wanderfoot; he was a great one for wanting to see the far side of things. He’d urge and beg me to go along--but how could I, me with small children? We quarreled about it a good deal. But I always said to him--for that sort must never be apron-tied--I said, ‘You go first, and if it’s so grand over there as you think, come back one of these days in your coach-and-four and fetch your family.’ Again and again he’d get so mad he’d take me at my word--only to come slipping meekly home after a week or a month, or maybe two of them. Because he loved me, you see, for all my quarrelin’ ways.” “Yes. And you him?” queried the girl, softly.