d moderately. Then
with more fervor, "I likes ye better nor any gal I ever see."

The usual long pause ensued.

"Ye hev got a mighty cur'ous way o' showin' it," Cynthia replied.

"I dunno what ye 're talkin' 'bout, Cynthy."

"Ye hev got a mighty cur'ous way o' showin' it," she reiterated, with
renewed animation--"a-comin' all the way down hyar from the mountings
ter beat my dad out'n that thar saddle an' bridle, what he's done sot
his heart onto. Mighty cur'ous way."

"Look hyar, Cynthy." The young hunter broke off suddenly, and did not
speak again for several minutes. A great perplexity was surging this
way and that in his slow brains--a great struggle was waging in his
heart. He was to choose between love and ambition--nay, avarice too
was ranged beside his aspiration. He felt himself an assured victor in
the competition, and he had seen that saddle and bridle. They were on
exhibition to-day, and to him their material and workmanship seemed
beyond expression wonderful, and elegant, and substantial. He could
never hope otherwise to own such accoutrements. His eyes would never
again even rest upon such resplendent objects, unless indeed in
Hollis's possession. Any one who has ever loved a horse can appreciate
a horseman's dear desire that beauty should go beautifully
caparisoned. And then, there was his pride in his own riding, and his
anxiety to have his preeminence in that accomplishment acknowledged
and recognized by his friends, and, dearer triumph still, by his
enemies. A terrible pang before he spoke again.

"Look hyar, Cynthy," he said at last; "ef ye will marry me, I won't
go back in yander no more. I'll leave the premi-_um_ ter them ez kin
git it."

"Ye're foolish, Jacob," she replied, still fanning with the yellow
calico sunbonnet. "Ain't I done tole ye, ez how they don't think
nothin' of ye ter our house? I don't want all of 'em a-jowin' at me,
too."

"Ye talk like ye ain't got good sense, Cynthy," said Jacob irritably.
"What's ter hender me from hitchin' up my mare ter my uncle's wagon
an' ye an' me a-drivin' up hyar to the Cross-Roads, fifteen mile, and
git Pa'son Jones ter marry us? We'll get the license down hyar ter the
Court House afore we start. An' while they'll all be a-foolin' away
thar time a-ridin' round that thar ring, ye an' me will be a-gittin'
married." Ten minutes ago Jacob Brice did not think riding around that
ring was such a reprehensible waste of time. "What's ter hender? It
do