"Yes'm. But it won't m--m--m--m--make any diffunce with granny w--w--w--wuther she's s--s--s--salivated or not. She ain't got no teeth. And b--b--b--besides, she likes the quinine better. She's d--d--d--d--deef and the q--q--q--quinine makes her head r--r--r--r--roar and she thinks she's hearin' suthin'. Well, er g--g--g--g--good day." "Miz Mayfield," said Margaret, when Mose was gone, "I reckon these folks air mighty queer to you." "Oh, no, they are close to nature in her most whimsical mood, and a mother of fun is better than a step-mother to scandal." "I don't know what you mean, auntie" said Tom, "and I don't guess you do, but I'll bet they are game and that is enough to make them all right with me." "Why," Lou replied, "the man that won't fight is a Judas." "Good," cried Tom, taking her hands. "I'd rather hear a girl say that than to hear her play a symphony. Before my father was a judge he was a soldier. Now they call him a learned jurist but I am prouder of the fact that he was a distinguished colonel of cavalry." "Gracious me!" exclaimed Margaret, "I must see about dinner." "I'll help you mother," said Lou. "No you won't," Margaret replied. "You jest stay right whar you air." "You won't object to my helping," said Mrs. Mayfield, arising. "Oh, no, that is you may come an' look on." Jim snatched his hat off the floor and followed, leaving Tom and Lou alone in the room. The girl stood leaning on the table looking at the young fellow, and though often of late had they strolled alone in the woods, yet he seemed to feel that this was the first time he stood facing so confidential a privilege. "And you lived away off in Maine," said Lou. "Yes, until father received the appointment to come down here." "Is yo' mother livin'?" "No, I can just remember her." She mused for a few moments as if struggling with a thought. "I read of them findin' a new star," she said, "and I wondered if it wan't the speret of some good man or woman that hed passed away from down here an' gone up there." "If that were true," he replied, coming forward and putting his hands on the table, gazing into her eyes--"if that were true and I should find a new star brighter than all the rest, I would call it--Lou." She straightened up. "You must be careful how you talk to me because I might not know how to act. When folks would hide things they must talk like in a book, and I can't do that. But do you think if I was to read books I could be smart?" "I have begun to think that books don't make so much difference after all. It's the soul that makes people great." "There's hardly any way for a woman to be great," she said. "All I can hope for is not to be foolish." "You couldn't be foolish. You might make a man foolish, but you--" "Oh, how could I make anybody foolish?" she cried, and leaving the table she stood leaning upon the back of a rocking chair. "How long have you known Mr. Peters?" he inquired and he appeared to be embarrassed. "All my life."