elt a sudden poignant pang for his forlorn and lonely estate.

"Never mind, never mind, Eveliny," Absalom said, hastily, repenting of
his frantic candor and seeking to soothe her.

"I _will_ mind," she said, sternly. "What hev ye done ter dad?"

"Nuthin'," he replied, sulkily--"nuthin'."

"Ye needn't try ter fool me, Abs'lom Kittredge. Ef ye ain't minded ter
tell me, I'll foot it down ter town an' find out. What did the law do
ter him?"

"Jes fined him," he said, striving to make light of it.

"An' ye done that fur--_spite!_" she cried. "A-set-tin' the law ter
chouse a old man out'n money, fur gittin' mad an' sayin' ye stole his
only darter. Oh, I'll answer fur him"--she too had risen; her hand
trembled on the back of the chair, but her face was scornfully
smiling--"he don't mind the _money_; he'll never git you-uns _fined_ ter
pay back the gredge. He don't take his wrath out on folkses' _wallets_;
he grips thar throats, or teches the trigger o' his rifle. Laws-a-massy!
takin' out yer gredge that-a-way! It's ye poorer fur them dollars,
Abs'lom--'tain't him." She laughed satirically, and turned to rock the
cradle.

"What d'ye want me ter do? Fight a old man?" he exclaimed, angrily.

She kept silence, only looking at him with a flushed cheek and a
scornful laughing eye.

He went on, resentfully: "I ain't 'shamed," he stoutly asserted. "Nobody
'lowed I oughter be, It's him, plumb bowed down with shame."

"The shoe's on the t'other foot," she cried. "It's ye that oughter be
'shamed, an' ef ye ain't, it's more shame ter ye. What hev he got ter be
'shamed of?"

"'Kase," he retorted, "he war fetched up afore a court on a crim'nal
offence--a-cussin' afore the court! Ye may think it's no shame, but he
do; he war so 'shamed he gin up his office ez jestice o' the peace, what
he hev run fur four or five times, an' always got beat 'ceptin' wunst."

"Dad!" but for the whisper she seemed turning to stone; her dilated eyes
were fixed as she stared into his face.

"An' I seen him a-ridin' off from town in the rain arterward, his head
hangin' plumb down ter the saddle-bow."

Her amazed eyes were still fastened upon his face, but her hand no
longer trembled on the back of the chair.

He suddenly held out his own hand to her, his sympathy and regret
returning as he recalled the picture of the lonely wayfarer in the rain
that had touched him so. "Oh, Eveliny!" he cried, "I never war so beset
an' sorry an'--"

She struck