e for."

"But the sewing's all right," returned Nannie in wounded pride. "Nat
ain't marrying me for my sewing, anyway."

Her mother shook her head.

"What a man marries for's hard to tell," she returned; "an' what a woman
marries for's past find-in' out. I ain't never seen an old maid yet that
ain't had a mighty good opinion of men--an' I ain't never seen a married
woman that ain't had a feelin' that a few improvements wouldn't be out
of place. I don't want to turn you agin Nat Turner--he's a man an' he's
got a mother, an' that's all I've got agin him. No talkin's goin' to
turn anybody that's got their mind set on marryin', any more than it's
goin' to turn anybody that's got their mind set on drink. So I ain't
goin' to open my mouth."

Here Amos Burr appeared, and as he seated himself beside Nannie she drew
her ruffles away. "You're so dusty, pa," she exclaimed half pettishly.

He fixed his heavy, admiring eyes upon her, receiving the reproof as
meekly as he received all feminine utterances. He might bully a man, but
he would always be bullied by a woman.

"I reckon you're pretty near ready," he observed cheerfully, rubbing his
great hairy hands. "You've got 'most a trunk full of finery. I reckon
Turner'll know I ain't in the poorhouse yet--or near it."

It was a speech of unusual length, and, after making it, he slowly
settled into silence.

"Nat wouldn't mind if I was in the poorhouse, so long as he could get me
out," said his daughter, taking up the cudgels in defence of her lover's
disinterestedness.

Amos Burr chuckled.

"Don't you set no store by that," he rejoined.

"An' don't you set about judgin' other folks by yourself, Amos Burr,"
retorted his wife sharply. "'Tain't likely you'd ever pull anybody out
o' the poorhouse 'thout slippin' in yourself, seein' as I've slaved
goin' on twenty years to keep you from land-in' thar at last. The less
you say about some things the better. Now, you'd jest as well set down
an' eat your supper."

II

The next day Nicholas went into Tom Bassett's office, where he met
Dudley Webb, who was spending a dutiful week in Kingsborough. He was a
genial young fellow, with a clear-cut, cleanly shaven face and a
handsome head covered with rich, dark hair. His hands were smooth and
white, and he gesticulated rapidly as he talked. It was already said of
him that he told a poor story better than anybody else told a good
one--a fact which was probably the elemental fea