Civil War, too?"

"Her gran'paw's paw? No. He war too ol' fer that, but his gran'son
Caswell, he fit in hit, an' he nevah come back, neither. Ol' Miz
Caswell--Cassandry Merlin's gran'maw, she lived a widow nigh on to
thirty year. She an' her daughter--that's ol' Miz Farwell that is
now--they lived thar an' managed the place ontwell she married Merlin."

"You knew her first husband, then?"

"Yas, know him? Ev'ybody knew Thad Merlin. He come f'om ovah Pisgah way,
an' he took Marthy thar. Hit's quare how things goes. I always liked
Thad Merlin. The' wa'n't no harm in him."

David saw a quaint, whimsical smile play about the old man's mouth. "He
war a preacher--kind of a mixtur of a preacher an' teacher an hunter.
Couldn't anybody beat him huntin'--and farmin'--well he could farm,
too,--better'n most. He done well whatever he done, but he had a right
quare way. He built that thar rock wall an' he 'lowed he'd have hit run
plumb 'round the place.

"He war a fiddler, and he'd build awhile, and fetch his fiddle--he
warn't right strong--an' then he'd set thar on the wall an' fiddle to
the birds; an' the wild creeturs, they'd come an' hear to him. I seen
squerrels settin' on end hearkin' to him, myself. Arter a while, folks
begun to think 'at he didn't preach the right kind of religion, an' they
wouldn't go to hear him no more without hit war to listen did he say
anythin' they could fin' fault with. 'Pears like they got in that-a-way
they didn' go fer nothin' else. Hit cl'ar plumb broke him all up. He
quit preachin' an' took more to fiddlin', an' he sorter grew puny, an'
one day jes' natch'ly lay down an' died, all fer nothin', 'at anybody
could see."

"What was the matter with his preaching?" asked David, and again the
whimsical smile played around the old man's mouth, and his thin lips
twitched.

"I reckon thar wa'n't 'nuff hell 'n' damnation in hit. Our people here
on the mountain, they're right kind an' soft therselves. They don't whop
ther chillen, nor do nothin' much 'cept a shootin' now an' then, but
that's only amongst the men. The women tends mostly to the religion, an'
they likes a heap o' hell 'n' damnation. Hit sorter stirs 'em up an'
gives 'em somethin' to chaw on, an' keeps 'em contented like. They has
somethin' to threat'n ther men folks with an' keep ther chillen straight
on, an' a place to sen' ther neighbors to when they don't suit. Yas,
hit's right handy fer th' women. I reckon they couldn't git on with