"Work!" scoffed Mr. James, "a sickly ailin' theng like you, a talkin' about workin' fer a livin'! Lindsay's a mighty fool ef he's willin' to saddle hisse'f with sech a bundle o' doctor's bills as you! And hit 'pears like to me, hit's you a doin' the anglin' instid o' him, any way. Hit's about the case with you of my grandfather's def'nition o' a fisherman--a line and a pole, with a hook at one end and a fool at the other. "And what'll you be a doin' ef he'll let you ketch him? You'll jest be a draggin' around from cabin to cabin like them old Taylors,--you a bar'foot, and him with a hog-jaw, and a skillet onder his arm! When you wuz made, Lucy Ann, the sile you wuz made out of shorely wuzn't in no condition to breng more'n a quarter crop o' brains!" Miss Lucy had covered her eyes with one delicate hand, but the tears were creeping through her fingers. "Now Lucy Ann, you jest dry them eyes up and listen to Pa, and what he's got to say!" Miss Nancy took hold of her sister's shoulder, and shook her lightly. "Yes, you jest listen to me," commanded her father; "ef you hain't got no head piece to speak of,--you've got a pair o' years I reckon. I've done made my will, and give you your part along with the rest, but ef you marry old Lindsay, I shall disinherit you! I shan't give you a theng, and a poor off critter you'll be!" "Pa," quavered Miss Lucy, "a body can live on just a little." "Jest listen to that!" derided Miss Nancy. "Lucy's visited among them terbaccer trash 'tel she's got jest like 'em. I'd hate to class myse'f with sech! Mrs. Castle says some them terbaccer people ain't no better'n niggers, and I believe her. I despise all old poor people, sech as old Lindsay." "Nancy," remonstrated Miss Lucy, between sobs, "poverty is no sin." "Naw, but hit's a mighty inconvenient possession, as you'll find to your sorrer, Lucy Ann," prophesied her parent. "And mighty little respect your selected husband's a showin' you," he added, "a tearin' your love letter acrost and throwin' hit down in the mud on the road fer anybody to pick up!" "Hit's mighty thankful you ought to be to Mr. Brock," broke in Miss Nancy: "people are a scandalizin' you now, and tellin' you are meetin' Lindsay out places, I hain't a doubt, and ef hit hadn't 'a' been fer Brock a findin' that letter, and handin' hit to Pa to give to you, no tellin' who would 'a' read hit! Ef you had any sense at all, Lucy Ann, you'd quit runnin' like a skeered kitten ever' time Mr. Brock comes in! You'd see which man hit is that keers anything for you, and let him do a little proper courtin'!" Pinned to the lining of Miss Lucy's waist was a bit of paper that to her was sufficient contradiction of her father's insinuations as to her friend's lack of respect, and satisfactory proof of his regard,--a little note that had been slipped into her hand late Sunday afternoon when the youngest Doggett had come up on his monthly shoe-last borrowing quest.