ng; "but he'll not know it."

As we rose into the more rugged country we passed more than one charred
cabin that told its silent story of Indian massacre. Only on the
scattered hill farms women and boys and old men were working in the
fields, all save the scalawags having gone to join Rutherford. There
were plenty of these around the taverns to make eyes at Polly Ann and
open love to her, had she allowed them; but she treated them in return to
such scathing tirades that they were glad to desist--all but one. He
must have been an escaped redemptioner, for he wore jauntily a swanskin
three-cornered hat and stained breeches of a fine cloth. He was a bold,
vain fellow.

"My beauty," says he, as we sat at supper, "silver and Wedgwood better
become you than pewter and a trencher."

"And I reckon a rope would sit better on your neck than a ruff," retorted
Polly Ann, while the company shouted with laughter. But he was not the
kind to become discomfited.

"I'd give a guinea to see you in silk. But I vow your hair looks better
as it is."

"Not so yours," said she, like lightning; "'twould look better to me
hanging on the belt of one of them red devils."

In the morning, when he would have lifted the pack of alum salt, Polly
Ann gave him a push that sent him sprawling. But she did it in such good
nature withal that the fellow mistook her. He scrambled to his feet,
flung his arm about her waist, and kissed her. Whereupon I hit him with
a sapling, and he staggered and let her go.

"You imp of hell!" he cried, rubbing the bump. He made a vicious dash at
me that boded no good, but I slipped behind the hominy block; and Polly
Ann, who was like a panther on her feet, dashed at him and gave him a
buffet in the cheek that sent him reeling again.

After that we were more devoted friends than ever.

We travelled slowly, day by day, until I saw the mountains lift blue
against the western sky, and the sight of them was like home once more.
I loved them; and though I thought with sadness of my father, I was on
the whole happier with Polly Ann than I had been in the lonely cabin on
the Yadkin. Her spirits flagged a little as she drew near home, but old
Mr. Ripley's rose.

"There's Burr's," he would say, "and O'Hara's and Williamson's," marking
the cabins set amongst the stump-dotted corn-fields. "And thar,"
sweeping his hand at a blackened heap of logs lying on the stones,
"thar's whar Nell Tyler and her baby was sculped."

"Poor