"that it was a great house; judging from your
size, I shouldn't wonder if you were born in a church."

"Stay, Belle," said the man, putting himself before the young virago, who
was about to rush upon me, "my turn is first." Then, advancing to me in
a menacing attitude, he said with a look of deep malignity, "'Afraid' was
the word, wasn't it?"

"It was," said I, "but I think I wronged you; I should have said,
aghast--you exhibited every symptom of one labouring under uncontrollable
fear."

The fellow stared at me with a look of stupid ferocity, and appeared to
be hesitating whether to strike or not: ere he could make up his mind,
the tall girl stepped forward, crying, "He's chaffing; let me at him!"
and, before I could put myself on my guard, she struck me a blow on the
face which had nearly brought me to the ground.

"Enough," said I, putting my hand to my cheek; "you have now performed
your promise, and made me wipe my face: now be pacified, and tell me
fairly the ground of this quarrel."

"Grounds!" said the fellow; "didn't you say I was afraid? and if you
hadn't, who gave you leave to camp on my ground?"

"Is it your ground?" said I.

"A pretty question," said the fellow; "as if all the world didn't know
that. Do you know who I am?"

"I guess I do," said I; "unless I am much mistaken, you are he whom folks
call the 'Flaming Tinman.' To tell you the truth, I'm glad we have met,
for I wished to see you. These are your two wives, I suppose; I greet
them. There's no harm done--there's room enough here for all of us--we
shall soon be good friends, I dare say; and when we are a little better
acquainted, I'll tell you my history."

"Well, if that doesn't beat all!" said the fellow.

"I don't think he's chaffing now," said the girl, whose anger seemed to
have subsided on a sudden; "the young man speaks civil enough."

"Civil!" said the fellow, with an oath; "but that's just like you: with
you it is a blow, and all over. Civil! I suppose you would have him
stay here, and get into all my secrets, and hear all I may have to say to
my two morts."

"Two morts," {86} said the girl, kindling up--"where are they? Speak for
one, and no more. I am no mort of yours, whatever some one else may be.
I tell you one thing, Black John, or Anselo, for t'other an't your name,
the same thing I told the young man here, be civil, or you will rue it."

The fellow looked at the girl furiously, but his glance soon quailed
be