deef ez a post, an' he hev been in glory twenty year--twenty
year an' better. Yer Aunt Malviny hed luck, so mebbe 'tain't no killin'
complaint fur a gal ter git ter talking like a fool about marryin' an'
sech. Leastwise I ain't minded ter sorrow."

She looked at her daughter with a gay grin, which, distorted by her
toothless gums and the wreathing steam from the kettle, enhanced her
witch-like aspect and was spuriously malevolent. She did not notice the
stir of an approach through the brambly tangles of the heights above
until it was close at hand; as she turned, she thought only of the
mountain cattle and to see the red cow's picturesque head and crumpled
horns thrust over the sassafras bushes, or to hear the brindle's
clanking bell. It was certainly less unexpected to Cynthia when a young
mountaineer, clad in brown jean trousers and a checked homespun shirt,
emerged upon the rocky slope. He still wore his blacksmith's leather
apron, and his powerful corded hammer-arm was bare beneath his
tightly-rolled sleeve. He was tall and heavily built; his sunburned face
was square, with a strong lower jaw, and his features were accented by
fine lines of charcoal, as if the whole were a clever sketch.

His black eyes held fierce intimations, but there was mobility of
expression about them that suggested changing impulses, strong but
fleeting. He was like his forge-fire; though the heat might be intense
for a time, it fluctuated with the breath of the bellows. Just now he
was meekly quailing before the old woman, whom he evidently had not
thought to find here. It was as apt an illustration as might be,
perhaps, of the inferiority of strength to finesse. She seemed an
inconsiderable adversary, as, haggard, lean, and prematurely aged, she
swayed on her prodding-stick about the huge kettle; but she was as a
veritable David to this big young Goliath, though she, too, flung hardly
more than a pebble at him.

"Laws-a-me!" she cried, in shrill, toothless glee; "ef hyar ain't
'Vander Price! What brung ye down hyar along o' we-uns, 'Vander?" she
continued, with simulated anxiety. "Hev that thar red heifer o' ourn
lept over the fence agin, an' got inter Pete's corn? Waal, sir, ef she
ain't the headin'est heifer!"

"I hain't seen none o' yer heifer, ez I knows on," replied the young
blacksmith, with gruff, drawling deprecation. Then he tried to regain
his natural manner. "I kem down hyar," he remarked, in an off-hand way,
"ter git a drin