thought of them all the afternoon and all the way home, and when he sat down at his fire his eyes very naturally and simply rose to his old rifle over the door--and then he laughed to himself so loudly that old Hon heard him. “Air you goin' crazy, Billy?” she asked. “Whut you studyin' 'bout?” “Nothin'; I was jest a-thinkin' Devil Judd wouldn't leave a grease-spot of him.” “You AIR goin' crazy--who's him?” “Uh--nobody,” said Uncle Billy, and old Hon turned with a shrug of her shoulders--she was tired of all this talk about the feud. All that summer young Dave Tolliver hung around Lonesome Cove. He would sit for hours in Devil Judd's cabin, rarely saying anything to June or to anybody, though the girl felt that she hardly made a move that he did not see, and while he disappeared when Hale came, after a surly grunt of acknowledgment to Hale's cheerful greeting, his perpetual espionage began to anger June. Never, however, did he put himself into words until Hale's last visit, when the summer had waned and it was nearly time for June to go away again to school. As usual, Dave had left the house when Hale came, and an hour after Hale was gone she went to the little ravine with a book in her hand, and there the boy was sitting on her log, his elbows dug into his legs midway between thigh and knee, his chin in his hands, his slouched hat over his black eyes--every line of him picturing angry, sullen dejection. She would have slipped away, but he heard her and lifted his head and stared at her without speaking. Then he slowly got off the log and sat down on a moss-covered stone. “'Scuse me,” he said with elaborate sarcasm. “This bein' yo' school-house over hyeh, an' me not bein' a scholar, I reckon I'm in your way.” “How do you happen to know hit's my school-house?” asked June quietly. “I've seed you hyeh.” “Jus' as I s'posed.” “You an' HIM.” “Jus' as I s'posed,” she repeated, and a spot of red came into each cheek. “But we didn't see YOU.” Young Dave laughed. “Well, everybody don't always see me when I'm seein' them.” “No,” she said unsteadily. “So, you've been sneakin' around through the woods a-spyin' on me--SNEAKIN' AN' SPYIN',” she repeated so searingly that Dave looked at the ground suddenly, picked up a pebble confusedly and shot it in the water. “I had a mighty good reason,” he said doggedly. “Ef he'd been up to some of his furrin' tricks---” June stamped the ground. “Don't you think I kin take keer o' myself?” “No, I don't. I never seed a gal that could--with one o' them furriners.” “Huh!” she said scornfully. “You seem to set a mighty big store by the decency of yo' own kin.” Dave was silent. “He ain't up to no tricks. An' whut do you reckon Dad 'ud be doin' while you was pertecting me?” “Air ye goin' away to school?” he asked suddenly. June hesitated. “Well, seein' as hit's none o' yo' business--I am.” “Air ye goin' to marry him?” “He ain't axed me.” The boy's face turned red as a flame.