en his mouth.

"Git eout, square!" said the other lumberman, roaring. "I b'lieve yeou
was born a-jokin'."

The handsome young woman disappeared into the pantry. Wetherbee strode
toward the group by the fireplace with an air of forced unconcern.

"Well, good-night, folks: I'm off," said he. "I'm a-goin' to help trim
up the hall fur the dance, 'n' have got ter step pretty lively." And he
made signs to Barker to follow him out of doors.

"She won't go with me, John," he said, as soon as they were alone. "As I
said before, there's something the matter. But I ruther guess I shan't
be obliged to go without company, anyhow."

Barker's face lighted up with a look of relief, and as he watched
Wetherbee's retreating figure a little gleam of hope awoke in his
breast. He stopped out under the stars a few moments for reflection, and
the hope soon vanished.

"No; 'tain't no use," he said to himself. "She likes Reube better'n she
does me, 'n' she wouldn't go with him. It stan's ter reason she should
like him better. He's boss o' the gang, looks as smooth 'n' slick 's a
parson, 'n' he's been a schoolmaster, tew. Then he's got sich kinder
silky ways 'n' smiles. Not that I b'lieve in 'em much, but the
wimmen-folks do. Still, 'twon't do no harm ter ask her, 'n' I reckon
I'll do it, whuther er no."

When he entered the house again, the object of these reflections was
still in the pantry, mixing bread which was to be set to rise for
breakfast. She was a tall, rather slender young woman. A heavy mass of
jet-black hair crowned her small, well-set head. Her eyes, to quote one
of her backwoods admirers, were "jest the color o' swamp blue-berries,
and hed the same sort o' shiny mist in them." Her skin was dark, almost
swarthy, but a perpetual fire burned on her smooth, oval cheeks,
deepening and fading according to her moods. She wore the usual
every-day attire of the women of the region,--mistresses as well as
"hired girls,"--a dark-print gown, but, like Ophelia's rue, "it was worn
with a difference," fitting her lithe, graceful figure to perfection,
and set off by a dainty band of white and knot of ribbon at the throat.

Barker entered the pantry, and stood watching her at her work with
bashful admiration.

"Well, what is it, John?" said she, after an interval, looking up with a
smile which disclosed unexpected dimples about her mouth.

"Drusy," said he, coloring to the roots of his stiff, reddish hair, "I
don't s'pose it's of no u