p sounded on
the gravel walk that led from the porch steps around the corner of the
house. A moment more, and Judy appeared.

The mountain girl stopped when she saw Betty Jo, and the latter went to
the top of the steps.

"Good-evening, Judy!" said Betty Jo, quietly. "Won't you come in?"

Slowly, with her black beady eyes fixed on Betty Jo's face, Judy went up
the steps.

As the mountain girl reached the level of the porch-floor, Betty Jo drew
a little back toward the door.

Judy stopped instantly, and stood still. Then, in a low tone, she said:
"You-all ain't got no call ter be afeared, Miss Betty Jo. You hain't
never goin' ter have no call ter be scared of me again, never."

"I am so glad for you to say that, Judy," returned Betty Jo, smiling. "I
don't want to be afraid of you, and I am not really; but--"

"Ain't you-all plumb a-hatin' me for what I done?" asked Judy,
wonderingly.

"No, no; Judy, dear, I don't hate you at all, and you must know that
Auntie Sue loves you."

"Yes," Judy nodded her head, thoughtfully. "Auntie Sue just naturally
loves everybody. Hit wouldn't be no more'n nature, though, for you-all
ter hate me. I sure have been poison-mean."

"But that is all past now, Judy," said Betty Jo, heartily. "Come and sit
down?" She started toward the chairs.

But the mountain girl did not move, except to shake her head in refusal
of the hospitable invitation.

"I ain't a-goin' ter put my foot inside this house, nor set with
you-all, nor nothin' 'til I've said what I done come ter say."

Betty Jo turned back to her again: "What is it, Judy?"

"Auntie Sue done told me not ter let you-all er Mr. Burns see me 'til
she come back. But I can't help hit, an' if I don't talk 'bout that
none, I reckon she ain't a-goin' ter mind so much. You-all don't know
that I seed Auntie Sue that night 'fore she went away, an' that hit was
me took her ter the station with 'Old Prince,' an' brung him back, did
you?"

"No," said Betty Jo, "I did not know; and if Auntie Sue told you not to
tell us about it, I would rather you did not, Judy."

"I ain't aimin' ter," Judy returned; "but Auntie Sue don't know nothin'
'bout what's happened since she went away, an' hit's that what's
a-makin' me come ter you-all."

Betty Jo, seeing that the poor girl was laboring under some intense
emotional stress, said, gently: "What is it that you wish to tell me,
Judy? I am sure Auntie Sue will not mind, if you feel so about it."

The