g
walls of rhododendron. Men, women, children, babes in arms mounted horse
or mule or strolled in family groups homeward up or down the dusty road.
Youths and maids paired off, dallying behind. Emerged last one rich,
dark, buxom girl alone. Twenty yards down the road two young
mountaineers were squatted in the shade whittling, and to one she
nodded. The other was a stranger--one Jay Dawn--and the stare he gave
her was not only bold but impudent.

"Who's goin' home with _that_ gal?" she heard him ask.

"Nobody," was the answer; "_that_ gal al'ays goes home _alone_." She heard
his snort of incredulity.

"Well, I'm goin' with her right now." The other man caught his arm.

"No, you ain't"--and she heard no more.

Athwart the wooded spur she strode like a man. Her full cheeks and lips
were red and her black, straight hair showed Indian blood, of which she
was not ashamed. On top of the spur a lank youth with yellow hair stood
in the path.

"How-dye, Allaphair!" he called uneasily, while she was yet some yards
away.

"How-dye!" she said unsmiling and striding on toward him with level eyes.

"Allaphair," he pleaded quickly, "lemme----"

"Git out o' my way, Jim Spurgill." The boy stepped quickly from the path
and she swept past him.

"Allaphair, lemme walk home with ye." The girl neither answered nor
turned her head, though she heard his footsteps behind her.

"Allaphair, uh, Allaphair, please lemme--" He broke off abruptly and
sprang behind a tree, for Allaphair's ungentle ways were widely known.
The girl had stooped for a stone and was wheeling with it in her hand.
Gingerly the boy poked his head out from behind the tree, prepared to
dodge.

"You're wuss'n a she-wolf in sucklin' time," he grumbled, and the girl
did not seem displeased. Indeed, there was a grim smile on her scarlet
lips when she dropped the stone and stalked on. It was almost an hour
before she crossed a foot-log and took the level sandy curve about a
little bluff, whence she could see the two-roomed log cabin that was
home. There were flowers in the little yard and morning-glories covered
the small porch, for, boyish as she was, she loved flowers and growing
things. A shrill cry of welcome greeted her at the gate, and she swept
the baby sister toddling toward her high above her head, fondled her
in her arms, and stopped on the threshold. Within was another man,
slight and pale and a stranger.

"This is the new school-teacher, Allaphair," said