"You hain't wuth the risk. I hain't goin' ter kill ye. I jus' wanted
ter banter ye 'n' make ye beg. You're a good beggar, Eli, 'n' a powerful
prayer. You'll be a shinin' light in the chu'ch, ef ye gits a chance ter
shine long. Fer lemme tell ye, nobody ever ketched ye afore. But you're
ketched now, an' I'm goin' to tell Steve. He'll be a-watchin' fer ye,
'n' so 'll I. I tell ye in time, ef ye ever come over hyeh agin as long
as you live, you'll never git back alive. Turn roun'! Hev ye got any
balls?" he asked, feeling in Crump's pockets for cartridges. "No;
well"--he picked up the Winchester and pumped the magazine empty--"I'll
keep these," he said, handing Crump the empty rifle. "Now git away--an'
git away quick!"

Crump's slouching footsteps went out of hearing, and Isom sat where he
was. His elbows dropped to his knees. His face dropped slowly into his
hands, and the nettles of remorse began to sting. He took the back of
one tremulous hand presently to wipe the perspiration from his forehead,
and he found it burning. A sharp pain shot through his eyes. He knew
what that meant, and feeling dizzy, he rose and started a little blindly
towards home.

Old Gabe was waiting for him. He did not answer the old man's querulous
inquiry, but stumbled towards a bed. An hour later, when the miller was
rubbing his forehead, he opened his eyes, shut them, and began to talk.

"I reckon I hain't much better 'n Eli, Und' Gabe," he said, plaintively.
"I've been abusin' him down thar in the woods. I come might' nigh
killin' him onct." The old man stroked on, scarcely heeding the boy's
words, so much nonsense would he talk when ill.

"I've been lyin' to ye, Uncl' Gabe, 'n' a-deceivin' of ye right along.
Steve's a-goin' atter ole Brayton--I'm goin' too--Steve didn't kill
Jass--hit wusn't Steve--hit wusn't Rome--hit was--" The last word stopped
behind his shaking lips; he rose suddenly in bed, looked wildly into the
miller's startled face, and dropping with a sob to the bed, went sobbing
to sleep.

Old Gabe went back to his pipe, and while he smoked, his figure shrank
slowly in his chair. He went to bed finally, but sleep would not come,
and he rose again and built up the fire and sat by it, waiting for day.
His own doctrine, sternly taught for many a year, had come home to him;
and the miller's face when he opened his door was gray as the breaking
light.

IV.

THERE was little peace for old Gabe that day at the mill. And wh