"They mighty fond of each other, though. Seems like she's not in a hurry
to marry and leave her pappy."

"Wall naow, I shouldn't be s'prised ef Miss Sally never did git married,
talkin' abaout marryin'. 'Twould not s'prise me a-tall, 'twouldn't." Mr.
Quin Beasley was talking. Mr. Beasley was the keeper of the Grange store
and admittedly a man of fine conversational powers. His jaws worked on
and he seemed able to get nutriment out of his ruminations long after a
cow would have gone back to grass hungrily. "Aint sayin' I never am
s'prised, becuz am, but do say that that wouldn't s'prise me, an' no
more would it." Mr. Beasley brought his jaws in from their loose
meanderings just as the clatter of a horse's hoofs became audible down
the side street that, a little way along, became the road to Poetical.

"Name the comer, Beasley. Up to the sugar-tree about now. Name-er,
name-er!" The challenger took from his pocket a huge horn knife, covered
it with his hand and shook it in the face of Mr. Beasley, who
responsively got his hand into his pocket and drew forth a knife, which
he held covered after the manner of his opponent.

"Unsight, unseen," said Mr. Beasley. "It's Price Mason's pony."

The challenger chuckled deprecatingly over the carelessness of judgment
evinced: "Price Mason's pony comes down with a hippety-hop," he remarked
pityingly--"lemme listen--it's--no, taint, aint favorin' his right front
foot--it's--wy!" the challenger suddenly twisted his head to one side
and held it there like a lean-crawed chicken deciding where to peck.
Simultaneously the other men glanced down the side street where it came
into the Square, and when someone said, or whistled, "Wy, who the
h-e-double-l _is_ it?" everybody was waiting for an answer.

They had not long to wait. The horseman in question galloped straight
toward the group and drew rein in front of them only a few minutes
later. He was a big fellow, broad and lithe of shoulder and chest, and
young and alert of face.

"Gentlemen," he called from his horse's back, "I want to find Mr.
Crittenton Madeira. Ah!" he laughed, a deep, rich note, as he saw the
gold and black sign, "gentlemen, I have found Mr. Madeira!" He leaped
from his horse and began to tether him to a staple, set in the pavement
in front of the Grange.

"Yes," replied a member of the Grange group, all of whom rose sociably,
"Crit and Miss Sally,"--the young man laughed again, softly, as though
he could not hel