during hog-killing or for boiling lye and grease for
the making of soap.

As Henley approached the steps Pitman and his wife, hearing the click of
the gate-latch, came out on the porch, which was shaded by overhanging
vines, and stood staring blankly at him. Henley was a gallant man, for
his station in life, and he drew off his broad-brimmed hat and remained
uncovered while he spoke.

"I've run over to inquire how little Joe is," he said, conscious of the
grim opposition to his visit in the very air that hung around the
farmer. "I happened to meet Miss Dixie Hart just now on her way here,
and she was considerably upset."

"Nothin' wrong with the boy," Pitman muttered, surlily. "That gal, like
most of her meddlin' sort, is havin' a regular conniption-fit over
nothin'. I reckon she is afeard thar'll be one less on the marryin' list
a few years from now. He was a pesky fool, anyway, plungin' in cold
water to attend to her business. He's had croupy coughs before this, an'
wheezin'-spells, an' been hot like all childern will when they eat too
much, but we never went stark crazy over it."

"Miss Dixie is a purty good judge, Sam," Henley answered, incisively.
"She'd be hard to fool if danger was lurkin' around. When she described
Joe's condition to me just now I saw she had plenty cause to worry, and
so I went straight back to town and left word for Doctor Stone to hurry
here as soon as he got home. They was looking for him every minute."

"You say you did!" Pitman came to the edge of the porch, and, with his
arm around one of the posts which upheld the roof, he leaned over till
his face was close to Henley's. "Huh! you are some pumpkins, ain't you?
You can keep me from runnin' an account at your dirty shebang, Alf
Henley, but you can't walk dry-shod over me in my own house. A man's
domicyle is his castle in law, and I'm goin' to manage mine an' defend
it, ef I have to."

"Don't get excited, Sam; keep your shirt on," Henley said, calmly. There
was an oblong spot of light thrown on the grass between him and the
gate. It was from the attic window above the porch, and across it now
and then moved a shadow. He knew that the little room under the roof was
occupied by the sick child, and that the shadow was Dixie's. The shadow
was now still and bowed at the window in an attitude of attention to
what was going on below.

"I ain't excited any to hurt," Pitman went on, his voice rising higher.
"You say you've ordered Stone to