This left the heads of the work--Amy and Virginia--with their afternoons free for their cherished plan of visiting every home in the county within a radius of ten or twelve miles. They intended, first, walking to all not farther than six miles; and, later, riding to more distant ones. The only disadvantage about the new arrangement was that it provided no occupation for the young men, Fult and his crowd, and Darcy and his, who had been so assiduous in their attendance upon cooking, sewing, and singing classes on the hill. Uncle Ephraim was troubled. "Hit is bad," he said; "the onliest way to keep them boys civil is to keep 'em busy. They won't go to school, where they need to be, with their sorry store of larning; and soon as time gets to laying heavy on their hands, they'll likely go back to stilling and drinking and shooting. I hain't so afeared for Darcy--he's got his mind so sot on the cook, he's aiming to keep peace if he sees any chanct; but hit's ontelling what Fult's crowd may do." Amy spoke to Fult on the subject the evening he brought Isabel back from hearing Aunt Ailsie sing the devil's ditties. "It would distress us deeply," she said, "if you young men got into bad ways just because after to-day there's nothing more going on up here to keep you interested." "Don't have no fears," he replied; "there'll be no drinking or shooting long as you women stay with us. As for me and Charlie and t'other boys, we have us a job of getting out timber down on my land; but we'll be in here reg'lar of an evening for the play-parties, and of a night for the sings, you can depend." He was true to his word. In mid-afternoon he and his friends rode in from his farm a mile down Troublesome, and stayed on the hill until supper-time, coming up again an hour later for the singing; and when the rest of the crowd left at eight, Fult always made some excuse to remain for an additional half hour--usually it was to teach Isabel a new ballad. Darcy Kent often lingered a while, too, talking with the cooking teacher; but the two enemies apparently never saw each other at such times. There was a period in mid-morning when Amy taught the old folks on the shady hotel-porch, and when Isabel had nothing to do. On Thursday of the first week, she was in the sewing-room, writing letters home. She was in the midst of one to Thomas Vance, giving a graphic account of the young feud leader and his dash and charm,--she always told Thomas everything,--when voices on the back porch penetrated to her consciousness. Cynthia Fallon was saying, in her sharp tones:-- "No, Lethie don't never go up the hill to the play-parties no more, and hit's no wonder!"