idder's life on Guarding Creek. Could you-all direct me to the
abode o' one Widder Brown? I hev some private an' pussonal business
with the widder. Hit's a kind what don't consarn nary human critter
but me an' her."

Uncle Dick sought no further for information, but issued the requested
direction, and moodily watched the horseman out of sight. Then, with a
sigh that was very like a groan, he moved away toward a small
outbuilding, in which was a forge. Here when he had set the forge
glowing, he took from his pocket the vial of gold dust, and emptied
the contents into a ladle. When the metal was melted, he poured off
the dross, and proceeded to hammer the ingot into a broad band.
Eventually, he succeeded in forming a massive ring of the virgin
gold. But, throughout the prosecution of the task, there was none of
that fond elation which had upborne him during the hours while he
gathered the material. On the contrary, his shaggy brows were drawn in
a frown of disappointment. He cursed below his breath from time to
time, with pointed references to one-armed veterans, who dast come
back when they hadn't orter. He was still in a saddened and rebellious
mood, when he returned to the porch, where he found his granddaughters
seated at some sewing. His face lightened a little at sight of them.

"Guess I got my han's full 'nough o' women-folks, anyhow," he
muttered. "Fine gals they be, too!" He regarded them attentively, with
a new pride of possession. "I 'low I hain't a-kickin' much of any. I
reckon like 'nough I be settled down right now, only I didn't know
'nough to know it." He chuckled over this conceit, as he seated
himself, and became uncommonly sociable, somewhat to the distress of
Plutina, who found it difficult to conceal her anxiety.

Dusk was falling when the horseman reappeared. This time there was no
hesitation, as he turned from the road into the clearing. Uncle Dick
rose, and shouted greeting, with labored facetiousness.

"Wall, Mister Jones, I 'lowed as how ye mout be the tax-collector,
arter the widder's mite, seein' how long ye was a-hangin' on up thar.
Me an' the gals'd feel a right-smart consarn to lose Fanny Brown fer a
neighbor, if she was pushed too hard fer her debts."

"Mister Siddon, suh," the stranger answered promptly. "I opine you-all
hain't half-bad at a guess. I be a tax-collector, so to speak, a
debt-collector. Hit's a debt contracted fifty-year agone. Fanny Brown
done tole me as how you-all bee