"He did! He did!" asseverated a voice from the veiled head, all muffled in the checked apron. "Dad 'lowed," continued Medora, "ez Peter Petrie hev persecuted and druv him ter the wall. Fust he tricked Dad out'n some unoccupied lan' what Dad hed begun ter clear, an' Petrie got it entered fust an' tuk out a grant an' holds the title! An' whenst Dad lay claim ter it Peter Petrie declared ef enny Gilhooley dared ter cross Storm Mounting he'd break every bone in his body!" "A true word--the insurance of the critter!" came from the blue-checked veil. A stir in the shed-room--a half-suppressed cough and a clearing of the throat. "An' then Dad fell on Pete Petrie at the Crossroads' store, whar the critter hed stopped with his mail-pouch, an' Dad trounced him well afore all the crowd o' loafers thar!" "Bless the Lord, he did!" the checked apron voiced a melancholy triumph. "An' then, ye remember whenst Dad set out fire in the woods las' fall ter burn off the trash on his own lan', the flames run jes' a leetle over his line an' on ter them woods on Storm Mounting, doin' no harm ter nobody, nor nuthin'!" "Not a mite--not a mite," asseverated the apron. "An' ez sech appears ter be agin the law Petrie gin information an' Dad war fined five dollars!" "An' paid it!" cried Jane Gilhooley. "Ye know that!" "An' then, ez it 'pears ter be the law ez one hundred dollars fur sech an offense is ter be forfeited ter ennybody ez will sue fur it," Medora resumed, "Petrie seen his chance ter git even fur bein' beat in a reg'lar knock-down-an'-drag-out fight, an'," with the rising inflection of a climax, "he hev sued and got jedgmint!" "An' so what that half-drunk dep'ty, Clem Tweed, calls an execution war leveled!" exclaimed Jane Gilhooley, her veiled head swaying forlornly as she sobbed invisibly. "But Dad 'lowed ez Peter Petrie shouldn't hev none o' his gear," Medora's eyes flashed with a responsive sentiment. "His gran'mam's warpin' bars!" suggested the elder woman. "The spinnin'-wheels she brung from No'th Carliny," enumerated Medora, "the loom an' the candle-moulds." "The cheers his dad made fur his mam whenst they begun housekeepin'," said Jane Gilhooley's muffled voice. "The press an' the safe," Medora continued. "The pot an' the oven," chokingly responded the apron. "The churn an' the piggins!" "The skillet an' the trivet!" Medora, fairly flinching from the inventory of all the household goods, so desecrated and "leveled on," returned to the salient incident of the day. "Dad jes' tuk an axe an' bust up every yearthly thing in the house!" "An' now we-uns ain't got nuthin'." The elder woman looked about in stunned dismay, her little black eyes a mere gleam of a pupil in the midst of their swollen lids and network of wrinkles.