Now she faced him again and spoke, and her words carried a volume of reproach. "Orlick," she began, "why do yo'-all cum t' see th' boys fo'--when you're a drinkin'?" By way of denial he suddenly gave vent to a raucous guffaw and whipped his knee with his hat, which artifice he calculated would enhance his prestige off-hand. On the contrary, his strident laugh grated strangely upon the girl's mood. "Drinkin'--drinkin'!" he cried out, amazed. "Why, Belle-Ann, I hain't teched a drap o' liquor fo' six months! An' what's a heap sight mo', Belle-Ann, I hain't never a goin' t'!" Here he stood up and raised his hand high over his head. "An' I hope Gawd'll paralyze me daid ef I ever touch th' stuff agin!" he declared with a profound, solemn flourish, calculated to emphasize a pledge. A sudden look of pity grew in the girl's eyes as she studied his face, a look which Orlick mistook for interest. "Yo' hain't a gittin' down on me like th' tuther fools, air yo', Belle-Ann?" Belle-Ann smiled ambiguously, lifted her pretty arched brows, and centered her azure eyes upon a red-head which at that instant was hammering a hole into a dead sycamore hard by. Orlick sighed. "Yo' orten t' git down on a feller lessen he's done somethin' pesky," he resumed tentatively. "What hev I done more'n cum an' go peaceable--an' make more money than any of 'em? Yo' see, Belle-Ann, our people hain't got no use fer a feller whut's got spunk enough t' git out o' th' mountains an' make money. Hit's hard draggin' when a feller's tryin' t' do right an' everybuddy ag'in em." His words stopped. Belle-Ann gazed his way. Orlick looked like a martyr, the very picture of persecuted righteousness. The left corner of his mouth, usually tilted, descended in emulation of its mate. His woebegone eyes followed the sky-line, and he appeared to be on the verge of an oral prayer. Belle-Ann's tender, unsophisticated heart was momentarily swayed with compassion. She glanced covertly at his averted, forlorn face, and her frigidity thawed a trifle as she was cognizant of an element of truth in Orlick's claims. She knew that a mountaineer was respected and eligible only while he stayed closely in the mountains. Orlick sat rigid, immobile, with eyes afar and apparently utterly oblivious of Belle-Ann's presence at that moment. She walked back to the wagon-bed. Her low, dulcet voice roused him out of his lethargy. "Orlick," she said, "why don't yo'-all stop traipsin' round an' snookin' below--an' cum Sabbath an' jine pap's church? Don't yo'-all want t' be a Christian?" If all the sins of Orlick's past had taken life and come up out of the ground at his feet to confront him he would have been less shocked. He flushed guiltily. He started perceptibly and squirmed in speechless discomfort. Belle-Ann's wide, clear eyes were upon him, and as he hesitated her lips parted to speak. "Eh?" he gurgled. "I say--don't yo'-all----"