y much cleared
eout--thet's so; but I'll soon hev' a cabin up somewhere; an' ye can
jest run my shebang anyway ye like. Reckon I can find some nice woman to
stay along with ye, fur comp'ny."

This was just the kind of talk best calculated to engage the attention
of one in Anne's situation--half soothing and half suggestive--and by
degrees her father's old friend succeeded in arousing her to face her
loss, and the prospects of her future.

* * * * *

They told me at Wilson's Bar, only last October--it must have been about
the anniversary of the fire--that in two or three months Anne had
recovered her spirits and health so far as to essay teaching the little
flock of children at the Bar, with flattering success; and that in two
or three more it began to be observed that Gentleman Bill--now more
commonly called Mr. Randolph, out of respect to Miss Matheny--generally
happened to be in the neighborhood of the school-house about the hour of
closing, in order that he might walk home with the teacher. In truth,
the young people had taken to looking and sighing after each other in a
way that provoked remark, and augured a wedding. As Anne insisted on
completing her term of teaching, as well as on taking a little time for
preparation, the wedding did not come off until the first part of
September.

On this occasion--the only one of the kind Kentuck had ever had anything
to do with--the rude, but generous-hearted Kentuckian made a point of
displaying his hospitality on a scale commensurate with his ideas of its
importance; and the _elite_ of Wilson's Bar were invited to eat, drink,
and dance from dusk till dawn of that memorable day. As for the bride,
she looked as lovely as it is the right and duty of all brides to
look--even lovelier than the most; and the groom was the very prince of
bridegrooms--so all the maiden guests declared.

On the following morning, when the young couple were to go away, Annie
kissed and cried over Kentuck, her second father, in a truly gratifying
fashion; and Randolph behaved very gentlemanly and kindly--as, in fact,
he always did; and Kentuck put on paternal airs, blessing his children
in all the honeyed epithets of a true Kentuckian.

Alas, that the legend does not end here! If the reader is of my mind, he
will wish that it had. But if he is of that sanguinary sort who always
insist upon seeing the grist the gods send to their slow-grinding mills,
he will pr