“Yer see, thar’s eleven of ’em. The ole man, he bought a new one ever’ two year—that would make twenty-two; an’ he’s be’n dead two year, which makes twenty-four sence me an’ him moved into this yere house. I never could bear to see nothin wasted, so ever’ time he quit wearin’ one I jes’ strung it up thar on the j’ist, an’ sence he’s be’n gone I ain’t never had the heart to take ’em down.” A great flapping of wings and squawking under the lean-to at the rear of the house announcing that the remedy for Gran’pap Bozeman’s “mizry” was in hand, if not in sight, Luce, conscious of the press of time, rose to be ready to receive it. Gabe came round holding the feathered legs in one hand and a strip of old cloth in the other. As he saw the girl’s look full upon him, he straightened himself and quickened his gait. “They do say,” said old Mrs. Freeler, “that a green gizzard ain’t nigh the good that a dry one is. Ef I kin git holt o’ ary other black chicken I’ll save it and dry it out fer yer.” “I’m mighty glad I come on down here,” said Luce, as she mounted from the rail fence. “I couldn’t er gone back without that chicken. Gran’pap Bozeman’s pow’rful bad.” “I’ll be over that er way Sunday,” said Gabe in a low voice, as he handed up the firmly tied legs, “an’ll stop by ter see how the ole man comes on.” “Ther’s preachin’” replied the girl, a little red coming into her cheek. And when mule and rider had vanished behind the thick wood he took down his gun called to the dog and followed slowly the way she had gone. Sunday, betimes he had ridden away on the old gray mare. “Yer pap mus’ be goin’ over ter Big Valley ergin,” said Mrs. Freeler to the girls. “Ther’s a preachin’ over thar onct a month this summer. But he never said nothin’ erbout it. Curious, too; he inginerally does leave some idee o’ whar he’s goin’.” “I heern ’im tell Dick Weems he seen a mighty fine lookin’ girl over thar las’ meetin’-day,” said Bet. “Mebbe pap’s courtin’ ergin,” commented Liz. And when, four weeks from that day he again rode off without having let fall any hint of his destination, the suspicion was confirmed. Mrs. Freeler had come to know the signs; she grew restless and watched Gabe furtively every time he left the house, and when he came into it. His tall, lank form was less indoors than ever, and he grew more silent and moody, riding away oftener over the mountain. Always a shiftless fellow, he appeared more so now, except at times, when, in spurts of industry, he worked off his newly-awakened energy. But not so with Mrs. Freeler. The more her son idled, the faster her fingers flew. “I wuz allus a master han’ at patchin’,” she said, as she turned over and over the garments of them all.