might be opened, lest the ribaldry to
which it come offend and wound it: 'twas a thing to conceal, far and
deep, from the common gaze and comment, from the vulgar chances, the
laugh and cynical exhaustion and bleared wit of the life we live. I
loved Judith--her eyes and tawny hair and slender finger-tips, her
whimsical way, her religious, loving soul. I loved her; and I would
not have you think 'twas any failure of adoration to pour my uncle an
honest dram of rum when she was stowed away in innocency of all the
evil under the moon. 'Tis a thing that maids have nothing to do with,
thinks I; 'tis a knowledge, indeed, that would defile them....

* * * * *

"Dannie," says my uncle, once, when we were left alone, "he've begun
t' fall."

I was mystified.

"The parson," he explained, in a radiant whisper; "he've begun t'
yield."

"T' what?" I demanded.

"Temptation. He've a dark eye, lad, as I 'lowed long ago, an' he've
begun t' give way t' argument."

"God's sake, Uncle Nick!" I cried, "leave the poor man be. He've done
no harm."

He scratched his stubble of hair, and contemplatively traced a crimson
scar with his forefinger. "No," he mused, his puckered, weathered brow
in a doubtful frown; "not so far. But," he added, looking cheerily up,
"I've hopes that I'll manage un yet."

"Leave un alone," I pleaded.

"Ay," says he, with a hitch of his wooden leg; "but I _needs_ un."

I protested.

"Ye don't s'pose, Dannie," he complained, in a righteous flash, "that
I'm able t' live forever, does ye?"

I did not, but heartily wished he might; and by this sincere
expression he was immediately mollified.

"Well," says he, his left eyelid drooping in a knowing way, his whole
round person, from his topmost bristle to his gouty wooden toe, braced
to receive the shock of my congratulation, "I've gone an' worked that
there black-an'-white young parson along! Sir Harry hisself," he
declared, "couldn't have done it no better. Nor ol' Skipper
Chesterfield, neither," says he.

'Twas a pity.

"No," he boasted, defiantly; "nor none o' them wise ol' bullies of
old!"

I sighed.

"Dannie," says he, with the air of imparting a grateful secret, "I got
that there black-an'-white young parson corrupted. I got un," he
repeated, leaning forward, his fantastic countenance alight with pride
and satisfaction--"I got un corrupted! I've got un t' say," says he,
"that 'tis sometimes wise t' do e