rl walked by him when he
walked and rode the pillion behind him when he rode. She finished that
journey with bleeding feet in moccasins he had bought from an Indian
squaw. When they came on down into this Valley and found this spring
he halted wagons and teams and there on that hill she dropped down to
sleep, worn out with the journey. And while she was asleep he stuck a
stake at the black-curled head of her and one by the little, tired,
ragged feet. That was the measure of the front door-sill to the Briars
up there on the hill. Come generations we have fought off the Indians,
we have cleared and tilled the land, and we have gone up to the state
house to name laws and order. In our home we have welcomed traveler,
man and beast, and come sun-up each day we have worshipped at the
altar of the living God--but we've never sold one of our women yet!
The child of that English girl never leaves my arms except to go into
those of a man she loves and wants. Yes, I'm old and I've got still
older to look out for, but I can strike the trail again to-morrow,
jest so I carry the honor of my women folks along with me. We may fall
on the march, but, Rose Mary, you are a Harpeth Valley woman, and not
for sale!"

CHAPTER IX

THE EXODUS

"Well, it just amounts to the whole of Sweetbriar a-rising up and
declaring of a war on Gid Newsome, and I for one want to march in the
front ranks and tote a blunderbuss what I couldn't hit nothing smaller
than a barn door with if I waster try," exclaimed Mrs. Rucker as she
waited at the store for a package Mr. Crabtree was wrapping for her.

"I reckon when the Senator hits Sweetbriar again he'll think he's
stepped into a nest of yellar jackets and it'll be a case of run or
swell up and bust," answered Mr. Crabtree as he put up the two boxes
of baking-powder for the spouse of the poet, who stood beside his wife
in the door of the store.

"Well," said Mr. Rucker in his long drawl as he dropped himself over
the corner of the counter, "looks like the Honorable Gid kinder fooled
along and let Cupid shed a feather on him and then along come somebody
trying to pick his posey for him and in course it het him up. You all
'pear to forget that old saying that it's all's a fair fight in love
and war."

"Yes, fight; that's the word! Take off his coat, strap his galluses
tight, spit on his hands and fight for his girl, not trade for her
like hogs," was the bomb of sentiment that young Bob exploded, mu