of which was a little heat. "It must have been--bad--else Van
wouldn't have struck you."

"He hit me--he knocked me flat," passionately said Joel.

"And you drew a gun on him?"

"I did, an' like a fool I didn't wait till I got up. Then he kicked me!
... Bostil's Ford will never be big enough fer me an' Van now."

"Don't talk foolish. You won't fight with Van.... Joel, maybe you
deserved what you got. You say some--some rude things."

"I only said I'd pay you back," burst out Joel.

"How?"

"I swore I'd lay fer you--an' steal your clothes--so you'd have to run
home naked."

There was indeed something lacking in Joel, but it was not sincerity.
His hurt had rankled deep and his voice trembled with indignation.

"But, Joel, I don't go swimming in spring-holes," protested Lucy,
divided between amusement and annoyance.

"I meant it, anyhow," said Joel, doggedly.

"Are you absolutely honest? Is that all you said to provoke Van?"

"It's all, Lucy, I swear."

She believed him, and saw the unfortunate circumstance more than ever
her fault. "I'm sorry, Joel. I'm much to blame. I shouldn't have lost
my temper and played that trick with your clothes.... If you'd only had
sense enough to stay out till after dark! But no use crying over spilt
milk. Now, if you'll do your share I'll do mine. I'll tell the boys I
was to blame. I'll persuade them to let you alone. I'll go to Muncie--"

"No you won't go cryin' small fer me!" blurted out Joel.

Lucy was surprised to see pride in him. "Joel, I'll not make it
appear--"

"You'll not say one word about me to any one," he went on, with the
blood beginning to darken his face. And now he faced her. How strange
the blaze in his differently colored eyes! "Lucy Bostil, there's been
thet done an' said to me which I'll never forgive. I'm no good in
Bostil's Ford. Mebbe I never was much. But I could get a job when I
wanted it an' credit when I needed it. Now I can't get nothin'. I'm no
good! ... I'm no good! An' it's your fault!"

"Oh, Joel, what can I do?" cried Lucy.

"I reckon there's only one way you can square me," he replied, suddenly
growing pale. But his eyes were like flint. He certainly looked to be
in possession of all his wits.

"How?" queried Lucy, sharply.

"You can marry me. Thet'll show thet gang! An' it'll square me. Then
I'll go back to work an' I'll stick. Thet's all, Lucy Bostil."

Manifestly he was laboring under strong suppressed agitation. That
moment w