randsir Hightower. "Babe oughter know Tuck. She
oughter know him certain an' shore; bekaze he's bin a-floppin' in an'
out er this house ever' Sunday fer mighty nigh two year'. Some sez he
likes Babe, an' some sez he likes Susan's fried chicken. Now, in my day
and time--"

"He's in the dreen now," said Babe, interrupting her loquacious
grandparent, who threatened to make some embarrassing remark. "He's
a-ridin' a gray."

"He's a mighty early bird," said Abe, "less'n he's a-headin' fer the
furder side. Maybe he's a revenue man," he continued. "They say they're
a-gwine to heat the hills mighty hot from this on."

"You hain't got nothing gwine on down on the branch, is you, Abe?"
inquired Grandsir Hightower, with pardonable solicitude.

"Well," said Abe evasively, "I hain't kindled no fires yit, but you
better b'lieve I'm a-gwine to keep my beer from sp'ilin'. The way I do
my countin', one tub of beer is natchally wuth two revenue chaps."

By this time the horseman who had attracted Babe's attention came into
view again. Abe studied him a moment, and remarked:

"That hoss steps right along, an' the chap a-straddle of him is got on
store-clo'es. Fetch me my rifle, Babe. I'll meet that feller half-way
an' make some inquirements about his famerly, an' maybe I'll fetch a
squir'l back."

With this Abe called to his dogs, and started off.

"Better keep your eye open, Pap," cried Sis. "Maybe it's the sheriff."

Abe paused a moment, and then pretended to be hunting a stone with which
to demolish his daughter, whereupon Babe ran laughing into the house.
The allusion to the sheriff was a stock joke in the Hightower household,
though none of them made such free use of it as Babe, who was something
more than a privileged character, so far as her father was concerned. On
one occasion shortly after the war, Abe had gone to the little county
town on business, and had been vexed into laying rough hands on one of
the prominent citizens who was a trifle under the influence of liquor. A
warrant was issued, and Dave McLendon, the sheriff of the county, a
stumpy little man, whose boldness and prudence made him the terror of
criminals, was sent to serve it. Abe, who was on the lookout for some
such visitation, saw him coming, and prepared himself. He stood in the
doorway, with his rifle flung carelessly across his left arm.

"Hold on thar, Dave!" he cried, as the latter came up. The sheriff,
knowing his man, halted.

"I hate to flin