rd raised an imperative hand in negation.

"No," he said, shortly and categorically, "I aims ter be married by my
rightful name--put hit down thar like hit is--Kenneth Parish
Thornton--all of hit!"

Caleb Harper bent forward with a quick gesture of expostulation.

"Ef ye does thet, boy," he pleaded, "ye won't skeercely be wedded afore
ther officers will come atter ye from over thar in Virginny."

"Then they kin come," the voice was obdurate. "I don't aim ter give
Almighty God no false name in my weddin' vows."

Uncle Jase, to whom this was all an inexplicable riddle, glanced
perplexedly at old Caleb and Caleb stood for the moment irresolute, then
with a sigh of relief, as though for discovery of a solution, he
demanded:

"Did ye ever make use of yore middle name--over thar in Virginny?"

"No. I reckon nobody don't skeercely know I've got one."

"All right--hit belongs ter ye jist as rightfully as ther other given
name. Write hit down Parish Thornton in thet paper, Jase. Thet don't
give no undue holt ter yore enemies, boy, an' es fer ther last name
hit's thicker then hops in these parts, anyhow."

In all the numbers of the crowd that stood about the dooryard that day
waiting for the wedding party to come through the door one absence was
recognized and felt.

"Old Jim Hewlett didn't come," murmured one observant guest, and the
announcement ran in a whisper through the gathering to find an echo that
trailed after it. "I reckon he didn't aim ter countenance ther matter,
atter all."

Then the door opened and Dorothy came out, with a sweet pride in her
eyes and her head high. At her side walked the man whose face they had
been curiously waiting to see.

They acknowledged at a glance that it was an uncommon face from which
one gained feeling of a certain power and mastery--yet of candour, too,
and fearless good nature.

But the crowd, hungry for interest and gossip, breathed deep in a sort
of chorused gasp at the dramatic circumstance of the bridegroom leaning
heavily on the arm of Bas Rowlett, the defeated lover. Already Uncle
Jase stood with his back to the broad, straight column whose canopy of
leafage spread a green roof between the tall, waving grass that served
as a carpet and the blue of a smiling sky.

Through branches, themselves as heavy and stalwart as young trees, and
through the myriads of arrow-pointed leaves that rustled as they sifted
and shifted the gold flakes of sunlight, sounded the low, my