nd thorn tops in its flood, one by
one. As we sat looking out of the open door that evening I told them
what Sally had told me of the evil report which had traveled through
the two towns. Uncle Peabody sat silent and perfectly motionless for a
moment, looking out into the dusk.

"W'y, of all things! Ain't that an awful burnin' shame-ayes!" said Aunt
Deel as she covered her face with her hand.

"Damn, little souled, narrer contracted--" Uncle Peabody, speaking in a
low, sad tone, but with deep feeling, cut off this highly promising
opinion before it was half expressed, and rose and went to the water
pail and drank.

"As long as we're honest we don't care what they say," he remarked as he
returned to his chair.

"If they won't believe us we ought to show 'em the papers--ayes," said
Aunt Deel.

"Thunder an' Jehu! I wouldn't go 'round the town tryin' to prove that I
ain't a thief," said Uncle Peabody. "It wouldn't make no differ'nce.
They've got to have somethin' to play with. If they want to use my name
for a bean bag let 'em as long as they do it when I ain't lookin'. I
wouldn't wonder if they got sore hands by an' by."

I never heard him speak of it again. Indeed, although I knew the topic
was often in our thoughts it was never mentioned in our home but once
after that, to my knowledge.

We sat for a long time thinking as the night came on. By and by Uncle
Peabody began the hymn in which we joined:

"Oh, keep my heart from sadness, God;
Let not its sorrows stay,
Nor shadows of the night erase
The glories of the day."

"Say--by thunder!--we don't have to set in the shadows. Le's fill the
room with the glory of the day," said Uncle Peabody as he lighted the
candles. "It ain't a good idee to go slidin' down hill in the
summer-time an' in the dark, too. Le's have a game o' cards."

I remember that we had three merry games and went to bed. All outward
signs of our trouble had vanished in the glow of the candles.

Next day I rode to the post-office and found there a book addressed to
me in the handwriting of old Kate. It was David Hoffman's _Course of
Legal Study_. She had written on its fly-leaf:

"To Barton Baynes, from a friend."

"That woman 'pears to like you purty thorough," said Uncle Peabody.

"Well, let her if she wants to--poor thing!" Aunt Deel answered. "A
woman has got to have somebody to like--ayes!--or I dunno how she'd
live--I declare I don't--ayes!"

"I like her, too,"