"Don't you be too sure, woman," admonished Aunt Ailsie. "There is sech feeling betwixt them boys, they hain't liable to stop for nothing. For twenty-five year their paws fit,--the war betwixt Fallons and Kents has gone on nigh thirty year now,--and they hate each other worse'n pizen. I raised Fulty myself, mostly, hoping he never would foller in the footsteps of Fighting Fult, his paw. And he never, neither, till Fighting Fult was kilt by Rafe Kent, Darcy's paw, four year gone. Then, of course, hit was laid on him, you might say, to revenge his paw,--being the first born, and the rest mostly gals,--and the day he were eighteen he rid right out in the open and shot Rafe in the heart--the Fallons never did foller laywaying. And of course the jury felt for him and give him jest a light sentence--five year. And then the Governor pardoned him out atter one year. And then he fit in Cuby nigh a year. Then, when he come back home, hit wa'n't no time till him and Darcy was a-warring nigh as bad as their paws had been; and for two year we hain't seed naught but trouble, and I have looked every day for Fulty to be fotched in dead." "Yes, Uncle Ephraim told us about the feud between them. It is very sad, when both are such fine young men." There was a stir among the young folks, who rose, put away their work, and gathered at one end of the tent, under the big flag. Then the strange woman who had taught them sewing sat down before a small box and began to play a tune. "Is there music in that-air cupboard?" asked Aunt Ailsie, astonished. "It is a baby-organ we brought with us," explained Virginia. "And who's that a-picking on hit?" "Amy Scott, my best friend." "How old is she?" "About my age." "She's got a man, sure, hain't she?" "No." "What--as fair a woman as her--and with that friendly smile?" "No." The anxious, puzzled look again fell upon Aunt Ailsie's face. Then a song was started up, in which all the young folks joined with a will. It was a new kind of singing to Aunt Ailsie,--rousing and tuneful,--very different from the long-drawn hymns, or the droning ancient ballads, she had loved in her young days. "They are getting ready for our Fourth of July picnic next Wednesday," said Virginia. "I follered singing when I were young," Aunt Ailsie said after a period of delighted listening. "I could very nigh sing the night through on song-ballats." "That's where Fult must have learned the ones he sings so well," cried Virginia. "You must sing some for us, this very day." Aunt Ailsie raised her hands. "Me sing!" she said; "woman, hit would be as much as my life is worth to sing a song-ballat now; I hain't dared to raise nothing but hime-tunes sence Lot j'ined." "Since when?"