ain't a-goin' up yon nary step.' An' he says to us, says he, 'Gals,
you never mind about no cows,' he says. 'Hit'll shore be the worse for
Andy and Jeff Turrentine ef you don't git yo'selves up thar an' git up
thar quick.' An' with that he gives us his knife out of his pocket, 'caze
we didn't have none, and we run the whole blessed way, and cut the boys
a-loose."

"I was that mad when I seen 'em tied up thataway," chimed in Cliantha,
"that I wouldn't a 'cared the rappin' o' my finger ef old Blatch
Turrentine hisself had been thar. I'd 'a' stood right up to him an' told
him what I thort o' him an' his works." There are conditions, it is said,
in which even the timid hare becomes militant, and doves will peck at the
intruder.

"Well, I reckon I got to get you folks out of here now for sartain," said
Jephthah as she made an end. "Nancy, honey, is the yarbs you wanted for
Creed in with them you're a-goin' to use on me?"

The little old woman felt of Creed's fingers, she laid a capable hand
upon his brow. Then she flashed one of her quick, youthful smiles at her
husband.

"You named it to me about Jude and Creed being at the outs," she said
frankly; "but I see they've made up their troubles. The boy don't need no
medicine."

Jephthah stared at his transformed patient, and admitted that it was so.

"Well he does need some peace and quiet," the head of the house
maintained as he ushered his clan into the adjoining room.

"Uncle Jephthah," called Creed's quiet voice, with the ring of the old
enthusiasm in it, as his host was leaving the room. "Do you remember
telling me that the trouble with my work on the mountain was, I was one
man alone? Do you remember saying that if I was a member of a big
family--a great big tribe--that I'd get along all right and accomplish
what I set out for?"

"I say sech a lot of foolishness, son, I cain't ricollect it all. Likely
I did say that. Hit mought have some truth in it."

"Well," said Creed, carrying the hand he held to his lips, "I reckon I'll
be a member of a big tribe now; maybe I can take up the work yet, and do
some good."

The old man looked at him. Here was the son of his heart--of his mind and
nature--the congenial spirit; the welcome companion, interested like
himself in abstractions, willing to stake all on an idea. Days of good
comradeship stretched before these two. He reached down a brown right
hand, and Creed's thin white one went out to meet it in a quick, nervous