"Marse Julius," she continued, "_he's_ de man fur Leonora Roscoe,--_I_ ain't gwine call her 'Gwynn,'--Marse Julius is good-hearted and free-handed; I knowed him from a baby, an' he wuz a big one! I always knowed he war in love wid her ever since dat Christmas up at the Devrett place, when he an' some o' dem limber-jack Devrett boys got inter de wall or inter de groun'--I dunno whar--an' sung right inter de company's ear, powerful mysterious,--skeered 'em all! Marse Julius, he tuk his guitar an' sung,--'Oh, my love's like a red, red rose!' An' she looked lak one while she listened, fur she knowed his voice. I wuz peekin' in at de company at de winder--Lawd--Lawd! I 'lowed _dat_ would be a match--but yere come along dat Gwynn feller!" A sudden white flare of burning lard spread over the red-hot stove, for Uncle Ephraim had sprung up so abruptly as to strike the long handle of the skillet and overturn the utensil. "Ain't ye got no mo' use of yer haid 'n ter go buttin' 'roun' de kitchen, lak a ole deestracted Billy-goat, lak you is!" Aunt Chaney demanded. As the smoke circled about she snatched up the skillet with its flaming contents. "Git out my kitchen, else I'll scald de grizzled woolly soul out'n you!" "Bress de Lawd, 'oman, _I_ ain't wantin' ter stay in yer kitchen," said Uncle Ephraim, suddenly spry and saucy and brisk,--a trifle more brisk, indeed, accelerating his pace toward the door, as she took two or three long, agile, elastic steps toward him. "I got other feesh ter fry!" he chuckled to himself. For the blazing lard but typified a certain illumination in old Ephraim's mind. CHAPTER X