trees, lying, squatting, sitting, old men talked
of early frosts and late snows, of strange and wonderful things that
had happened away back in the days of misty tradition; one man's father
had seen a ghost, and another man's grandfather, while leading to the
altar a beautiful girl, was suddenly horrified to see her turn into a
hideous witch. When Jasper's "haul" had got out of the wagon, and while
the women were shaking out their skirts, Laz Spencer came along in
jacket and shrunken trousers.

"Laz," said Jasper, "you ought to sue that peddler. Yo' britches hain't
shrunk the same. One leg's shorter than tuther."

"So I hearn," Laz replied, looking first at one leg and then at the
other. "But britches ain't whut's a troublin' me at the present writin'.
Miss lady's duds is what's a ailin' of me. Mag Bailey 'lowed she'd meet
me over here, but she didn't come. I'd ruther be deceived by ten men
than one woman. You kin whup a man, but it won't do to whup a woman till
you marry her, an' even then it's sorter dangersome."

"She's your fiance, I suppose," Tom remarked, winking at his aunt.

"I don't know whut you mean, but she ain't my nuthin' it don't seem
like."

"I mean you are engaged to her."

"Don't look much like it. Told her ef she'd meet me over here we mout
be. Reckon her not comin' is a hint that she ain't agreeable to the
p'int. How air you an' Lou a gittin' along?"

Margaret began to cough and Jasper ducked down behind the wagon. Lou
blushed until her cheeks were as red as the ribbon on her hat. "I git
along well with ever'body," she said.

"You embarrass us, Mr. Spencer," Tom spoke up, red as the breast of a
robin.

"That so?" replied Laz. "Wall, Mister, ef you don't want to be jolted
don't try to jolt me."

"I beg your pardon, sir, if--"

"Oh, no harm done, Mister. Wait a minit," he added, squatting and
peering down the hill among the trees. "I'm a billy goat with only one
ho'n ef yander don't come Mag with Sim Mason. Him an' her as sho's I'm a
foot high. Say, Jasper, they calls the sakermint the blood o' the lamb,
don't they? Wall, ef they want it to-day they kin have the blood of a
calf."

"Oh, Mr. Spencer," cried Mrs. Mayfield, going to him in alarm, "I do
hope you'll have no trouble."

"Hope so, too, ma'm, but I ain't a signin' no notes of hand. Look, he's
a hitchin' her hoss fur her an' you see ef he don't walk with her up to
the church do'. An' ef he do, thar's--whut did I tell you?"

Sim