at the
closed door, shook his head, and threw up his hands, exclaiming to
himself, "Bless Katy! I'm powerful glad I ain't got no 'oman on my
trail. 'Specially one like her. Be jigged ef she don't shake this old
town up!"

He heard voices behind him, and turned to see Eugenia Claiborne and Paul
Tomlin walking slowly along, engaged in a very engrossing conversation.
Mr. Sanders looked at the couple long enough to make sure that he was
not mistaken as to their identity, and then he went on his way.

He had intended to go straight home, but, yielding to a sudden whim or
impulse, he went to the tavern instead. This old tavern, at a certain
hour of the day, was the resort of all the men, old and young, who
desired to indulge in idle gossip, or hear the latest news that might be
brought by some stray traveller, or commercial agent, or cotton-buyer
from Malvern. For years, Mr. Woodruff, the proprietor--he had come from
Vermont in the forties, as a school-teacher--complained that the
hospitality of the citizens was enough to ruin any public-house that had
no gold mine to draw upon. But, after the war, the tide, such as it was,
turned in his favour, and by the early part of 1868, he was beginning to
profit by what he called "a pretty good line of custom," and there were
days in the busy season when he was hard put to it to accommodate his
guests in the way he desired.

During the spring and summer months, there was no pleasanter place than
the long, low veranda of Mr. Woodruff's tavern, and it was very popular
with those who had an idle hour at their disposal. This veranda was much
patronised by Mr. Silas Tomlin, who, after the death of his wife, had no
home-life worthy of the name. Silas was not socially inclined; he took
no part in the gossip and tittle-tattle that flowed up and down the
veranda. The most interesting bit of news never caused him to turn his
head, and the raciest anecdote failed to bring a smile to his face.
Nevertheless, nothing seemed to please him better than to draw a chair
some distance away from the group of loungers, yet not out of ear-shot,
lean back against one of the supporting pillars, close his eyes and
listen to all that was said, or dream his own dreams, such as they might
be.

Mr. Sanders was well aware of Silas Tomlin's tavern habits, and this
was what induced him to turn his feet in that direction. He expected to
find Silas there at this particular hour and he was not disappointed.
Silas wa