em's Uncle Hughey's twins," he said.

"How do you happen to know that?" inquired the Virginian, suddenly
interested.

"Saw his wife put 'em under the chair so she could find 'em right off
when she come to go home."

"Oh," said the Virginian, thoughtfully. "Oh, find 'em right off. Yes.
Uncle Hughey's twins." He walked to a spot from which he could view the
dance. "Well," he continued, returning, "the schoolmarm must have taken
quite a notion to Uncle Hughey. He has got her for this quadrille." The
Virginian was now speaking without rancor; but his words came with a
slightly augmented drawl, and this with him was often a bad omen. He
now turned his eyes upon the collected babies wrapped in various
colored shawls and knitted work. "Nine, ten, eleven, beautiful sleepin'
strangers," he counted, in a sweet voice. "Any of 'em your'n, Lin?"

"Not that I know of," grinned Mr. McLean.

"Eleven, twelve. This hyeh is little Christopher in the blue-stripe
quilt--or maybe that other yello'-head is him. The angels have commenced
to drop in on us right smart along Bear Creek, Lin."

"What trash are yu' talkin' anyway?"

"If they look so awful alike in the heavenly gyarden," the gentle
Southerner continued, "I'd just hate to be the folks that has the
cuttin' of 'em out o' the general herd. And that's a right quaint notion
too," he added softly. "Them under the chair are Uncle Hughey's, didn't
you tell me?" And stooping, he lifted the torpid babies and placed them
beneath a table. "No, that ain't thorough," he murmured. With wonderful
dexterity and solicitude for their wellfare, he removed the loose wrap
which was around them, and this soon led to an intricate process of
exchange. For a moment Mr. McLean had been staring at the Virginian,
puzzled. Then, with a joyful yelp of enlightenment, he sprang to abet
him.

And while both busied themselves with the shawls and quilts, the
unconscious parents went dancing vigorously on, and the small,
occasional cries of their progeny did not reach them.

XI. "YOU RE GOING TO LOVE ME BEFORE WE GET THROUGH"

The Swinton barbecue was over. The fiddles were silent, the steer was
eaten, the barrel emptied, or largely so, and the tapers extinguished;
round the house and sunken fire all movement of guests was quiet;
the families were long departed homeward, and after their hospitable
turbulence, the Swintons slept.

Mr. and Mrs. Westfall drove through the night, and as they neared thei