mers, gruff and averse,
could not refrain from administering a rebuke to Brent Kayle as crossing
the expanse of sawdust on his way to join the audience he encountered
the youth in company with Valeria Clee, his recent partner.

"Ai-yi, Brent," the old man said, "the last time I seen you uns I
remember well ez ye war a-settin' on the mourner's bench." For there had
been a great religious revival the previous year and many had been
pricked in conscience. "Ye ain't so tuk up now in contemplatin' the
goodness o' God an' yer sins agin same," he pursued caustically.

Brent retorted with obvious acrimony. "I don't see no 'casion ter doubt
the goodness o' God--I never war so ongrateful nohow as that comes to."
He resented being thus publicly reproached, as if he were individually
responsible for the iniquity of the bran dance--the scape-goat for the
sins of all this merry company. Many of the whilom dancers had pressed
forward, crowding up behind the old mountaineer and facing the flushed
Brent and the flower-like Valeria, the faint green leaves of her muslin
dress fluttering about her as her skirts swayed in the wind.

"Ye ain't so powerful afeard of the devil _now_ ez ye uster was on the
mourner's bench," the old man argued.

"I never war so mighty afeard of the devil," the goaded Brent broke
forth angrily, for the crowd was laughing in great relish of his
predicament--they, who had shared all the enormity of "shaking a foot"
on this festive day. Brent flinched from the obvious injustice of their
ridicule. He felt an eager impulse for reprisal. "I know ez sech dancin'
ez I hev done ain't no sin," he blustered. "I ain't afeared o' the devil
fur sech ez that. I wouldn't be skeered a mite ef he war ter--ter--ter
speak right out now agin it, an' I'll be bound ez all o' you uns would.
I--I--look yander--_look_!"

He had thrown himself into a posture of amazed intentness and was
pointing upward at the overhanging boughs of a tree above their heads. A
squirrel was poised thereon, gazing down motionless. Then, suddenly--a
frightful thing happened. The creature seemed to speak. A strange
falsetto voice, such as might befit so eerie a chance, sounded on the
air--loud, distinct, heard far up the slope, and electrifying the
assemblage near at hand that was gathering about the stand and awaiting
the political candidates.

"Quit yer foolin'--quit yer foolin'," the strange voice iterated. "I'll
larn ye ter be afeared o' the devil. Lon