man put his head in at the door of the cabin.

He was a tall man, with red hair, and a red freckled face, and a red
bristling moustache, and big red hands.

"What's all this noise about?" said he; and when he saw what it was, he
came in.

"Get out of this, you little beast!" said he to Blinks, and putting the
toe of his boot under the little dog, he kicked him clear out of the
door of the cabin. Then turning to Holly, he looked at her pretty much
as if he intended to kick her out too. But he didn't. He put out one of
his big red hands and said to her:

"Shake hands."

Holly obeyed without a word, and then snatching her wooden child from
the floor, she darted out of the door and reached the village almost as
soon as poor Blinks.

In a minute or two Aunt Matilda made her appearance at the door. She had
heard the barking and the screaming, and had come to see what was the
matter.

When she saw the man, she exclaimed:

"Why, Mah'sr George! Is dat you?"

"Yes, it's me," said the man. "Shake hands, Aunt Matilda."

"I thought you was down in Mississippi; Mah'sr George," said the old
woman; "and I thought you was gwine to stay dar."

"Couldn't do it," said the man. "It didn't suit me, down there. Five
years of it was enough for me."

"Enough fur dem, too, p'r'aps!" said Aunt Matilda, with a grim chuckle.

The man took no notice of her remark, but said:

"I didn't intend to stop here, but I heard such a barking and screaming
in your cabin, that I turned out of my way to see what the row was
about. I've just come up from the railroad. Does old Michaels keep store
here yet?"

"No, he don't," said Aunt Matilda; "he's dead. Mah'sr Darby keeps dar
now."

"Is that so?" cried the man. "Why, it was on old Michaels's account that
I was sneakin' around the village. Why, I'm mighty glad I stopped here.
It makes things different if old Michaels isn't about."

"Well, ye might as well go 'long," said Aunt Matilda, who seemed to be
getting into a bad humor. "There's others who knows jist as much about
yer bad doin's as Mah'sr Michaels did."

"I suppose you mean that meddling humbug, John Loudon," said the man.

"Now, look h'yar, you George Mason?" cried Aunt Matilda, making one long
step toward the whitewash bucket; "jist you git out o' dat dar door!"
and she seized the whitewash brush and gave it a terrific swash in the
bucket.

The man looked at her--he knew her of old--and then he left the cabin
almost as quickly