with hostile and
accusing eyes as Charlotte hurled a final invective at me. "You are
wicked and the devil will burn you up," she threatened.

"He won't neither, at all. Hush up!" came a defense and a command in a
very imperious young voice, and the Stray followed the voice from around
the large trunk of the oldest graybeard. He had arrived late on the
scene of action because his impedimenta had been the wriggling puppy of
brindle hue, which he immediately released as he came over and stood
between the Reverend Mr. Goodloe and me, with my hand in his own small
paddie and defiance and defense to the limit in his high-held young head
with its black crest and snapping violet eyes. At last I felt Charlotte
had met her match and I trembled for the result.

"She never stoled nothing," he further declared, looking Charlotte full
in the eye.

"I meant she tooken him away, Stranger," parleyed Charlotte with extreme
mildness for her and giving to the Stray the name that she had decided
upon by translating the cognomen of his state into that of another
almost equally forlorn. "My father told my Auntie Harriet that Aunt
Charlotte would git Minister yet and I'll call the devil to stop her if
she tries to get him away."

"I'll bust that devil's head with a rock and a bad smell," answered the
Stray as he held tighter to my hand and hurled back his threat that held
a remembrance of the conquering of the tenacious turtle.

"Auntie Harriet answered father that Auntie Charlotte and the devil
could do most anything that--" small James was contributing to the
general assault when with a wave of a calming hand Mr. Goodloe took the
field.

"That will do, youngsters," he commanded with extreme mildness it seemed
to me, considering the appalling situation. "I thought you had had about
enough practice for to-day and Charlotte could have taught the little
boy--er--"

"Stranger," prompted Charlotte.

"You could have taught him up to the point you knew so I could have a
nice rest here under the lovely trees. Are you being kind to me in not
helping me a little bit? You know what you promised me." And the beloved
"Minister's" voice was just as grave and just as serious as if he had
been reproving one of his deacons.

"Is talking to Auntie Charlotte and holding her hand the Lord's work?"
demanded Charlotte, looking him straight in the face.

"Yes," answered Mr. Goodloe, gravely, looking her as straight in the eye
as she had looked him.