ing I knowed if she wasn't standing on a cracker-box on her
side, and a-looking _over_ the screen."

"Well, I'll be--" Tate stood straighter.

"'Smith,' says the young woman, 'what does Mr. Tate have screens for?'
Then, with her blamed, sassy little nose all crinkled up; 'my! how it
does smell. I should think if Mr. Tate had _anything_, he'd have an
air-tight and smell-proof partition.'"

A roar greeted this.

"Like as not." Tate was crimson, "the sentiments you're rehashing ain't
got constitootion enough, Smith, to stand much more airing. Something's
got to be done in this here place to set matters on a proper footing.
You let a woman come nosing around where she don't belong, specially one
with a loose-jointed tongue, and there's hell to pay. Our women is
getting heady. You men will learn too late, maybe, that you'd better put
the screw on while there's something to hold to."

"It's sapping the juice, some." Murphy was beginning to relax. "But,
Lord! have you seen the duds for the kids, and the costumes for the
women? Mis' Falster had me in to show off hers. Every woman's to have a
new frock for the jamboree Christmas night; not to mention the trappings
for the kids. The old lady up to the bungerler give 'em."

Tate scowled.

Just then the door opened and Jock Filmer entered. He looked spent and
haggard; and his handsome, careless face did not wear its usual happy
smile.

"Hello!" he said, slamming the door after him, and walking up to the
stove. "I thought I saw your Brown Betty kiting over toward the north,
Tate. I was afraid something had happened."

"No; Brown Betty's safe in the barn." Tate's gloom passed as he greeted
Jock. "The Reverend's got a new horse. What'll you have, Filmer?"

"Plain soda," Jock replied and walked up to the bar.

Tate almost reeled under the blow.

"Plain--thunder!" he gasped, thinking Jock was joking. But Filmer fixed
him with a mirthless stare.

"Plain soda, and no monkeying with it."

The air became electrical.

"Been away?" Murphy tried to break the spell.

"Over to Hillcrest--on business." Jock was gulping down the soda. His
throat was dry and burning; and the unaccustomed beverage went against
all his desire. "I'm off--to-morrow--for a spell. Won't you join me in a
drink, boys?"

The invitation was accepted with alacrity, and Smith asked cordially:

"Where are you bound to, Filmer?"

"Got a job?" Tate gave each man his choice of drinks and looked
dubiously a