ecause she is silly enough to be gone on a man that
don't care a snap for her."

"Wambush?"

"No," scornfully; "_you_, that's who."

Westerfelt was silent for a moment, then he said: "How do you know I
don't care for her?"

"You don't show it; you always stay away from her. They say you've
been spoiled to death by girls over the mountain."

"I asked her to come out here with me to-day."

"Did you? You don't mean it! Well, I'll bet she--but I'm not goin' to
tell you; you are vain enough already." They were silent for several
minutes after that. She seated herself on a log by the roadside, and
he stood over her, his eyes on the pines behind which Bates and Harriet
had disappeared. What could be keeping them so long? Jennie prattled
on for half an hour, but he did not hear half she said. Afternoon
service began. The preacher gave out the hymn in a solemn, monotonous
voice, and the congregation sang it.

"We must be goin' purty soon," said Jennie; "my gracious, what is the
matter with them people; hadn't we better go hunt 'em?"

"I think not, they--but there they are now."

Harriet and Bates had turned into the road from behind a clump of
blackberry vines, and, with their heads hung down, were slowly
approaching. Looking up and seeing Westerfelt and Jennie, they
stopped, turned their faces aside, and continued talking.

Westerfelt was numb all over. Had she accepted Bates? He tried to
read their faces, but even the open countenance of Bates revealed
nothing.

"Come on, you ninnies!" Jennie cried out. "What on earth are you
waiting for?"

Her voice jarred on Westerfelt. "Hush! for God's sake, hush!" he
commanded, sharply. "Let's go on--they don't want us!"

Wondering over his vehemence, Jennie rose quickly and followed him. He
walked rapidly. She glanced over her shoulder at Harriet and Bates,
but Westerfelt did not look back. When the shed was reached, Jennie
asked him if he were going in with her, but he shook his head, and she
entered alone. He remained in the crowd on the outside, pretending to
be listening to the sermon, but was furtively watching the spot where,
concealed by the trees, Bates and Harriet still lingered.

The preacher ended his discourse, started a hymn, and commenced to
"call up mourners." Old Mrs. Henshaw began to pray aloud and clap her
hands. The preacher came down from the platform, gave his hand to her,
and she rose and began to shout. Then the excitement com