ore,
hoping that he might have something to suggest which had not occurred to
her. She had told him all that had happened, and among other things,
that she knew now that the "breed" had negro blood in him.

"It probably accounts for his secret belief in an old-fashioned,
brimstone hell," she had added. "He denies it, of course, but I'm sure
it's the one thing he's really afraid of."

The information had impressed Teeters.

"You go back and keep the varmit alive until I git there," he had
advised her. "I got a black speck in my brain, and every time it hits
the top of my head I get an idea--I think it's goin' to strike
directly."

The present visit was evidence that it had done so. The situation was
one which demanded all his subtlety, but what possible bearing the deep
interest with which he was eying the garment Mrs. Taylor was repairing
could have upon it, the most astute would have found it difficult to
imagine.

The bifurcated article of wearing apparel was of outing flannel, roomy
where amplitude was most needed, gathered at the waist with a
drawstring, confined at the ankle by a deep ruffle--a garment of amazing
ugliness.

"I suppose," Teeters ventured guilelessly, "them things is handier than
skirts to git over fences and do chores in?" Then, with an anticipatory
air, he waited.

He was not disappointed. Mrs. Taylor laid down her work and, throwing
back her head, burst into laughter that was ringing, Homeric,
reverberating through the house like some one shouting in a canyon. It
continued until Teeters was alarmed lest he had overdone matters.

She subsided finally and, wiping her streaming eyes on a ruffle, shook a
playful finger at him:

"Clarence, you are killing--simply killing!"

Teeters did not deny it. He had not yet recovered from the fear that he
might be. But he had accomplished what he had intended--he had furnished
Mrs. Taylor with the "one good laugh a day" which she declared her
health and temperament demanded.

After a pensive silence Teeters looked up wistfully:

"I wonder if you and Miss Maggie would sing somethin'. I git a reg'lar
cravin' to hear good music."

Mrs. Taylor laid down her work with a pleased expression.

"Certainly, Clarence. Is there anything in particular?"

"If it ain't too much trouble, I'd like, 'Oh, Think of the Home Over
There.'"

"I'm delighted that your mind sometimes turns in that direction. I've
sometimes feared, Clarence, that you were not religiou