out the old woman's lips.

"Cuts _is_ a bad thing," she went on. "I reckon yore doctor bill run
up to some more'n you'd 'a' lost that day by jest lettin' my boy have
some'n to ride out home in."

"Dry up!" thundered old Wambush. He climbed back into his chair and
glared at her. "Ef you dare open yore mouth agin, I'll make you git
right out an' make tracks fer home." The old woman jerked on her
bonnet and turned her face towards the horses. Old Wambush looked over
his shoulder at Westerfelt, a sheepish look on his face.

"Don't pay no 'tention to her," he apologized; "she's had the very old
scratch in 'er ever since Toot was run off; I don't harbor no ill-will,
but women ain't got no reason nohow. They never seem to know when
peace is declared. It's the women that's keepin' up all the strife
twixt North and South right now. Them that shouldered muskets an' fit
an' lived on hard-tack don't want no more uv it."

Westerfelt said nothing.

"Hello thar!" The voice was from the buggy behind. Westerfelt turned.
It was Frank Hansard with Jennie Wynn.

"Hello!" replied Westerfelt, greatly relieved,

"Whyn't you git down an' fight it out while we're waitin'?" jested
Frank, in a low voice. "Anything 'u'd be better'n this; but I'll tell
you, she's a regular wild-cat, if you don't know it."

Westerfelt smiled, but made no response. Beyond Hansard's buggy was
another, and in it sat Harriet and Bates; there was no mistaking the
old-fashioned silk hat and Harriet's gray dress. It seemed to
Westerfelt that the blood in his veins stopped at the sight of the
couple sitting so close together.

"Can you see who's behind us?" asked Jennie, mischievously. "It's
undoubtedly a case; they've been connoodlin' all the way an' didn't
even have the politeness to speak to us as we passed 'em in the big
road."

Westerfelt pretended not to hear. Old Wambush's wagon had started.
The camp-ground was soon reached. As Westerfelt was hitching his horse
to a tree, he could not help seeing Bates and Harriet in the bushes not
far away. Bates was taking his horse out of the shafts and looping up
the traces, and she stood looking on. Westerfelt knew that Jake or
Washburn would attend to his horse, so he walked on to the spot where
the service was to be held.

The camp-ground was in a level grove of pine-trees, between two steep
hills. A space had been cleared in the centre of the grove and a long
shed built. It was open at the si