“I aims ter give hit ter Auntie Sue,” came the startling reply. “I reckon she'll know what ter do. Hit allus was more her'n than your'n, anyhow. You done said so yourself. I heard you only last night when you-all was so dad burned tickled at gittin' hit done. You-all ain't got no right ter sling hit inter the river, an', anyway, I ain't a-goin' ter let you.” “Which sounds very sensible to me,” came a clear voice from a few feet distant. Judy and Brian turned quickly, to face a young woman who stood regarding them thoughtfully, with a suggestion of a smile on her very attractive face. CHAPTER XIV. BETTY JO CONSIDERS. The most careless eye would have seen instantly that the newcomer was not a native of that backwoods district. She was not a large woman, but there was, nevertheless, a full, rounded strength, which saved her trim and rather slender body from appearing small. Neither would a discriminating observer describe her by that too-common term “pretty.” She was more than that. In her large, gray eyes, there was a look of frank, straightforward interest that suggested an almost boyish good-fellowship, while at the same time there was about her a general air of good breeding; with a calm, self-possessed and businesslike alertness which, combined with a wholesome dignity, commanded a feeling of respect and confidence. Her voice was clear and musical, with an undertone of sympathetic humor. One felt when she spoke that while she lacked nothing of intelligent understanding and sympathetic interest, she was quite ready to laugh at you just the same. When the two stood speechless, she said, looking straight at Brian: “It seems to me, sir, that the young lady has all the best of the argument. But I really think she should have some dry clothes as well.” She turned to the dripping and dishevelled Judy: “You poor child. Aren't you cold! It is rather early in the season for a dip in the river, I should think. Let me take whatever you have there, and you make for the house as fast as you can go,--the run will warm you.” As she spoke, she went to the mountain girl, holding out her hand to take the manuscript, and smiling encouragingly. But Judy backed away, her stealthy, oblique gaze fixed with watchful surprise on the fair stranger. “This here ain't none of your put-in,” and her shrill drawling monotone contrasted strangely with the other's pleasing voice. “Where'd you-all happen from, anyhow? How'd you-all git here?”