"Belle-Ann Benson," he cried, glowering down upon her placid face, with one arm pointing downward across the sunlit valley, "yo' know where _they_ be. My pap an' my fo' brothers air asleep down yander under th' willers on Pigeon Creek. They died fo' the Luttses, they ded--shot t' pieces a fightin' fo' yo'-all! "Who knows hit better 'n yo'? An' this day yo'-all run th' last Orlick off en yore place. Whut fer--'cause I'm a lovin' yo'? Whut fer air yo'-all so stuck up? 'Cose yore beaut'f'l, an' 'cose yore mother wus a blue-grasser, an' 'cose yore a goin' below t' school? "Yes, I reckon yo' an' Lem Lutts 'll be satisfied now--yo'-all run th' last Orlick offen yore place." [Illustration: "Yo' know where _they_ be."] With a vicious jerk he turned the horse's head around and spurred the animal so cruelly that it reared and plunged away down the steep, rocky trail at a gallop that threatened disaster to both horse and rider. And above the jumbled clatter of the horse's shod hoofs the echoes of Orlick's wild, defeated laugh came back to Belle-Ann's ears. She lingered a while at the horse-block, and pondered soberly upon the advisability of acquainting the old man and Lem with Orlick's visit. There could be only one consequence if she did this. Presently she decided humanely to keep her own counsel, and, slipping to the ground, she walked slowly toward the cabin. She walked slowly to allow the two unfortunate dogs tagging at her heels to keep pace with her. One was old Ben, the blind hound, the other a pup with a broken fore-leg which Belle-Ann had bolstered up with splints. As she approached the kitchen door, she beheld Slab standing in the yard, rigid, and looking at her with a beaming countenance. Slab, always an optimist, ever presented a hopeful face. But at this moment when she noted his presence with the tail of her eye, she glimpsed something so extraordinarily illuminating as straightway to pique her curiosity, and she stopped short and regarded him inquiringly. A prodigious grin now lured the corners of his mouth beyond sight; inspiring the freakish suspicion that they met at the back of his head. "Lan's sake'--what ails yo'--Slab?" she interrogated. The sound of her voice seemed to fuse some combustible deposit of exultation cached within him. Instantly he began leaping up and down in a most frantic and alarming manner, yelling in loud outbursts, causing the girl mentally to question his sanity. "I tol' ye so--I tol' ye so--I tol' ye so----" "What ails yo'-all?" "Halliluja'--halliluja'----" he answered, keeping time with a grotesque dance. "Slab--have yo' gone plum offin' yore haid?"