l, I won't close my two eyes," affirmed his wife. "I hain't seed
'er, nur I don't intend to, ef I kin git out of it."

When supper was ready they softly moved their chairs to their places
and sat down. Mrs. Slogan didn't eat heartily, but Peter's appetite
seemed normal. They had finished eating, Peter had secured his
toothpick from the broom, and they had moved back to the fireplace,
when they heard a stealthy step on the passage floor near the door.
The bolt was turned, the door shutter creaked and moved a few inches.
A hand came in sight, and something wrapped in brown paper was tossed
into the centre of the room. Then the steps receded, and they heard
the widow resume her chair.

Peter rose curiously and picked up the parcel, and bringing it to the
fire opened it. Its contents were a pair of woollen socks and a pair
of stockings of the same material. On the first had been worked a big
red letter "P" and on the other a capital "C."

"Did you ever?" gasped Mrs. Slogan. "I don't believe she's a bit more
crazy 'n I am."

"I never 'lowed she wus," said Peter, with a laugh. "I jest thought
she mought be harder to manage 'an you, that's all."

"Sister's gone an' had a change o' heart!" declared Mrs. Slogan,
ignoring his joke. "Nothin' else could a-made 'er come back an' give
us these things. I heerd they had a big revival over thar. Oh, Lordy,
I do feel so relieved!"

"Well, I reckon we mought as well go in an' pay 'er our respects an'
git started," grumbled Peter. "I'm not a-goin' to tote 'er meals
about, I'll tell you that. Slavery day is over."

"No, we'll jest let 'er alone," Mrs. Slogan beamed; "she'll know we
mean all right by the supper, an' I reckon she'll move up 'er cheer in
the mornin'; ef she don't, I'll blow the field-horn."

Peter lighted another pipe. "I wonder," said he, "how long it'll be
'fore you an' her 'll be clawin' agin. Religion ur no religion, crazy
ur no crazy, women is jest the same."

Chapter XXII

When Westerfelt went to bed that night after his talk with Mrs. Bradley
about the conversion of Mrs. Dawson, it was with a certain lightness of
heart and buoyancy of spirits that he had not experienced for a long
time. He did not know exactly how his new feeling would show itself in
regard to Harriet, but he believed he might, in time, cease to look
upon her love for Wambush as such an unpardonable offence. "Surely,"
he argued, "if Mrs. Dawson can forgive me for all I