er ball the miser had made from a coin.

"Never tell!" cried pretty Audrey Billberry, her dark eyes starting from
the bloodless face. "Never tell and I promise, I promise and so does
Tinie--see we promise together."

The child had put down the pitcher and came shyly to rest her head upon
her mother's shoulder, her small hand in Audrey's.

"We promise," they spoke together, "never, never again to bother your
garden!"

They kept their word all three, Amos Tingley and pretty Audrey Billberry
and little Tinie. But somebody told, for the tale still lives in Laurel
Hollow of the miser and the deer woman and the little fawn.

GHOST OF DEVIL ANSE

Near the village of Omar, Logan County, in the hills of West Virginia
there is a little burying ground that looks down on Main Island Creek.
It is a family burying ground, you soon discover when you climb the
narrow path leading to the sagging gate in the rickety fence that
encloses it. There are a number of graves, some with head stones, some
without. But one grave catches the eye, for above it towers a white
marble statue. The statue of a mountain man, you know at once by the
imposing height, the long beard, the sagging breeches stuffed into
high-topped boots. Drawing nearer, you read the inscription upon the
broad stone base upon which the statue rests:

CAPT. ANDERSON HATFIELD

and below the names of his thirteen children:

JOHNSON
WM. A.
ROBERT L.
NANCY
ELLIOTT R.
MARY
ELIZABETH
ELIAS
TROY
JOSEPH D.
ROSE
WILLIS E.
TENNIS

You lift your eyes again to the marble statue. If you knew him in life,
you'll say, "This is a fine likeness--and a fine piece of marble."

"His children had it done in Italy," someone offers the information.

"So," you say to yourself, "this is the grave of Devil Anse Hatfield."

You've seen all there is to see. You're ready to go, if you are like
hundreds of others who visit the last resting place of the leader of the
Hatfield-McCoy feud. But, if you chance to tarry--say, in the fall when
fogs are heavy the