Judy went slowly toward the woman, her beady eyes fixed and staring as though at some ghostly vision. The woman rose to her feet as Judy paused before her. “Be you-all Brian Kent's woman?” demanded Judy. The excited exclamation from the company and the manner of the woman suddenly aroused the mountain girl to a realization of what she had done in speaking Brian Kent's name. With an expression of frightened dismay, she turned to escape; but the group of intensely interested spectators drew closer. Every one waited for Martha to speak. “Yes,” she said, slowly, watching the mountain girl; “I am Mrs. Brian Kent. Do you know my husband?” Judy's black beady eyes shifted slyly from one face to another, and her twisted body moved uneasily. “No, ma'm; I ain't a-sayin' I knows him exactly. I done heard tell 'bout him nigh 'bout a year ago, when there was some men from the city come through here a-huntin' him. Everybody 'lows as how he was drowned at Elbow Rock.” “The body was never found, though,” murmured one of the men in the group. “Who lives in that little log house over there, Judy?” Harry Green asked suddenly, pointing. “There? Oh, that there's Auntie Sue's place. I 'lowed everybody knowed that,” returned the girl. “Who is Auntie Sue?” came the next question. One of the women answered, before Judy could speak: “Auntie Sue is that old-maid school-teacher they told us about. Don't you remember, Harry?” “Is Auntie Sue at home now, girl?” asked Mrs. Kent. Judy's gaze was fixed on the ground as she replied: “I don't know, ma'm. I ain't got no truck with anybody on yon side the river.” “Is there any one living with Auntie Sue?” asked some one; and in the same breath from another came the question, “Who is Mr. Burns?” Judy jerked her twisted shoulders and threw up her head with an impatient defiance, as she returned shrilly: “I'm a-tellin' youuns I don't know nothin' 'bout nobody. Hit ain't no sort er use for youuns ter pester me. I don't know nothin' 'bout hit, an' I wouldn't tell youuns nothin' if I did.” And with this, the mountain girl escaped into the house. While her friends on the veranda were looking at each other in questioning silence, Mrs. Kent, without a word, turned and walked away into the woods. As she disappeared among the trees, one of the men said, in a low tone: “You better go after her, Harry. She is on, all right, that it's Brian Kent. She never did believe that story about his death, you know. There is no knowing what she'll do when she gets to thinking it all over.” “It is a darned shame,” exclaimed one of the women, “to have our party spoiled like this!” “Spoiled nothing,” answered another. “Martha is too good a sport to spoil anything. Go on, Harry. Cheer her up. Bring her back here. We'll all help get her good and drunk to-night, and she'll be all right.” There was a laugh at this, and some one said: “A little something wouldn't hurt any of us just now, I'm thinking. Here, Jim!”