Cleaverage did not take the trouble to affirm or deny. He flung himself back on the fern and pine needles with his hat over his face, and remarking, "Wake me up when you get your breath," affected to go to sleep. Ola Derf was as comfortable a companion as a dog, in that you could talk to her or let her alone, as the humor ran. A cicada's whir overhead swelled to a pulsating screech and died away. The woods here opened into calm and lofty spaces which at a little distance began to be dimmed as with vaporized sapphire--the blue that melted the hills into the sky. His eyes were caught by an indigo-bird in the branches--a [71] drop of color apparently precipitated by this marvel of azure held in solution by the summer air. It was the morning after Lance had sung to Callista under her window, and his mind was yet swimming in dreams of her. He was roused from these by Ola's voice. "Lance," she began and broke off. "Oh, Lance, I want to talk to you about--about--" Again her voice lapsed. She could see nothing of his face. His chest rose and fell rhythmically. "Lance--air you asleep?" "Huh-uh. But if you keep on talkin' right good maybe I'll get to sleep." She paid no attention to the snub, but addressed herself once more to what seemed a difficult bit of conversational tactics. "Lance," came the plaint for the third time, "I wanted to name Callista Gentry to you. I--I--that thar gal don't care the rappin' o' her finger about you, nor any man." Cleaverage, with the memory of last night warm at his heart, smiled under his hat brim and made no answer, save a little derisive sound which might have meant denial, indifference, or mere good-humored contempt of Ola herself. "Oh, yes, I know," Ola nodded to her own thought, "they's a heap of 'em lets on not to like the boys; but with Callista Gentry hit goes to the bone. She don't care for nary soul in this round world but her own pretty self. She 'minds me [72] of a snake--a white snake, if ever there was such a thing. You look at her. You ain't never seen her change color, whatever came or went." The picture evoked of Callista's flushed, tender face lying upon his breast made the pulses of the man on the warm pine needles leap. "Well," he prompted finally, "what's the trouble? Are you a true friend, that doesn't want me to get snake bit?" Ola laughed out a short laugh. "No," she said, drearily, "I'm just a fool that's got yo' good at heart, and don't like to see you get a wife that cares nothin' for you. Thar--I've said my say. Thar's no love in her, and thar's no heart in her. But if a pretty face and high and mighty ways is what takes you, of course you can follow yo' ruthers."