But I did not want payment in any form. I did not want condescension and patronizing thanks. I did not want anything--that was it. Up to now, the occupants of the big house and I had been enemies, open and confessed. I had, so far as possible, kept out of their way and hoped they would keep out of mine. But now the situation was more complicated. I did not know what to expect. Of course there was no chance of our becoming friends. The difference in social position, as they reckoned it, made that too ridiculous to consider as a possibility, even if I wished it, which I distinctly did not. But something, an interview, awkward and disagreeable for both sides, or a patronizing note of thanks, was, at the very least, certain to follow the happenings of the previous night. I wished I had gone home when the Coltons first came to the festival. I wished I had not promised Taylor that I would attend that festival. I wished--I wished a great many things. The thought of young Carver's public snubbing before his friends was my one unmixed satisfaction. I rather imagined that he was more uncomfortable than I was or could be. Lute crowed vaingloriously over his own good judgment in leaving for home early. “I don't know how 'twas,” he declared. “Somethin' seemed to tell me we was in for a turrible tempest. I was settin' talkin' with Alvin Baker and eatin' my second sasser of berries, when--” “SECOND sasser?” interrupted Dorinda, sharply. “Where'd you get money for two sassers? I gave you thirty cents when you started for that festival. It cost you fifteen to get inside the gate, and Matildy Dean told me the church folks was cal'latin' to charge fifteen for a helpin' of berries and cream. And you had two sassers, you say. Who paid for the second one?” Her husband swallowed half a cup of coffee before replying. Then his reply had nothing to do with the question. “I don't know how 'twas,” he went on. “I just had the feelin', that's all. Sort of a present--presentuary, I guess, come over me. I looked up at the sky and 'twas gettin' black, and then I looked to the west-ard and I see a flash of lightnin'. 'Nothin' but heat lightnin',' says Alvin. 'Heat lightnin' nothin'!' says I, 'I tell you--” “Who paid for that second sasser of berries?” repeated his wife, relentlessly. “Why now, Dorindy--” “Who paid for 'em? If 'twas Alvin Baker you ought to be ashamed of yourself, spongin' on him for your vittles.” “Alvin! Good land! did you ever know him to pay for anything he didn't have to?” “Never mind what I know. Did you get trusted for 'em? How many times have I told you--” “I never got trusted. I ain't that kind. And I didn't sponge 'em, neither. I paid cash, right out of my own pocket, like a man.” “You did! Um-hm. I want to know! Well then--MAN, where did the cash in that pocket come from?” Lute squirmed. “I--I--” he stammered. “Where did it come from? Answer me.”