o the jug, and it's
gone on and gone on, till old Bradley Gaither owns in-about all the
Carew plantation that's wuth ownin'. Maybe it was Billy's wife druv him
to it, Sister Jane."

"I say the word!" exclaimed Miss Jane, scornfully,--"I say the word!
How could a little bit of a dried-up 'oman drive a grown man to drink?"

"They are a heap livelier than they look to be, Sister Jane," said the
Squire reassuringly. "Little as she was, I lay Billy Carew's wife had
her say."

"Well," said Miss Jane, "a mouse'll squeal if you tromple on it."
Squire Inchly had a jovial appearance ordinarily; but when he found it
necessary to wrestle with the moral problems that the sharp tongue of
his sister presented to his mind, he was in the habit of putting on his
spectacles, as if by that means to examine them more impartially. He
put his spectacles on now, and with them a severe judicial frown.

"That's the trouble, Sister Jane,--that's the trouble," he said after a
while. "The mouse'll squeal and squeal, but where's the man that ever
got use to sech squealin'?"

"Don't pester the mouse then," said Miss Jane, sententiously.

"Old Bradley Gaither," remarked the Squire, showing a disposition to
wander away from a dangerous discussion,--"Old Bradley Gaither ain't
only got mighty nigh all the Carew plantation, but he's hot arter the
balance of it. Last sale-day he took me off behind the Court-house,
and, says he--

"'Square,' says he, 'I'd like mighty well for to git that Carew place,'
says he.

"'Why, Mr. Gaither,' says I, 'you've in-about got it all now,' says I.

"'Square Ichabod," says he, 'it's only a matter of two hundred acres or
thereabouts, and it cuts right spang into my plantation,' says he.

"'Well,' says I, 'two hundred acres ain't much, yit arter all it's a
piece of land,' says I.

"'That's so,' says he, 'but I want that land, and I'm willin' for to
pay reasonable. I want you to buy it for me, Square,' says he.

"Right across from where we sot," the Squire continued, taking off his
spectacles, "old Billy Carew was a cuttin' up and singin' his
worldly-reminded gongs, and Jack was a-tryin' for to git him off home.

"'Mr. Gaither,' says I, 'do you want to crowd that poor old creetur out
'n the county?' says I. 'And look at Jack; you won't find a
better-favoured youngster,' says I.

"I disremember what he said," the Squire went on; "but when I named
Jack he puckered up them thin lips of his'n like he was fortifyin'