to pieces at de fiah. You mus' keep dat young gelmun
'way fum heah!"

"He came home with me last night, Nelson; I told father so."

"Yes'm. Yo' pa tole me you say dat, but he reckon you done it to mek him
madder, 'cause you mad, too. He say he done see dat Crailey Gray comin'
'long de hedge wid you."

"He was mistaken, it was Mr. Vanrevel."

Nelson rolled his eyes fervently to heaven. "Den dat young man run
pintedly on he death! Ef you want keep us all dis side er de Jawdan
Rivuh, don' let him set foot in dis neighbo'hood when yo' pa come back!
An', honey--" his voice sank to a penetrating whisper--"'fo' I do
a lick er wu'k I goin' out in de stable an' git down on my knees an'
retu'n thanksgiving to de good God 'case he hole Carewe Street in de
dahkness las' night!"

This was the speech he chose for his exit, but, after closing the door
behind him, he opened it again, and said, cheerfully:

"Soon's I git de trunk fix f' yo' pa, I bring 'roun' dat bay colt wid de
side saddle. You better set 'bout gittin' on yo' ridin'-habit, Missy. De
roads is mighty good dis sunshiny wedduh."

"Nelson?"

"Do you think such an attack as father had this morning--is--dangerous?"

He had hoped for another chance to laugh violently before he left her,
and this completely fitted his desire. "Ho, ho, he!" he shouted. "No'm,
no, no, honey! He jass git so mad it mek him sick. You couldn' kill dat
man wid a broad-ax, Missy!"

And he went down the hail leaving the reverberations of his hilarity
behind him. The purpose of his visit had been effected, for, when Miss
Betty appeared upon the horse-block in her green habit and gauntlets,
she was smiling; so that only a woman--or a wise old man--could have
guessed that she had wept bitterly that morning.

She cantered out to the flat, open country to the east, where she found
soft dirt-roads that were good for the bay colt's feet, and she reached
a cross-road several miles from town before she was overcome by the
conviction that she was a wicked and ungrateful girl. She could not
place the exact spot of her guilt, but she knew it was there, somewhere,
since she felt herself a guilty thing.

For the picture which Nelson had drawn rose before her: the one man
standing alone in his rage on the platform, overwhelmed by his calm
young adversary, beaten and made the butt of laughter for a thousand.
Her father had been in the wrong in that quarrel, and somehow she was
sure, too, he must have be