ed Collier used to come to see me. I 'lowed he was a
single man, an' when I found he wan't I handed him his hat an' I says, I
does, 'Here, put this on an' see if it'll fit you.' He declared that it
was a past'ral call, an' I says, 'Well, then, go out in the pasture.'
Now let's put things in order for I'm goin' to stay all night."

She was imperious, but not without generosity, for she granted to
Margaret the right to look sad. But she would brook no demonstration,
and when Mrs. Barker sought to lead Margaret back for a hiccoughey
stroll along the dew-dripping path, she turned upon her with a snap.
"Miz Barker, putty soon you'll force me to wring you an' hang you out
to dry."

And what were the antecedents of this crankish old woman? Her
grandfather was hanged, one of John A. Murrell's robbers; and when she
was a girl, her father fortified his log house and fought the law that
strove to oust him for lack of title. She had moulded bullets; and when
both her father and mother had been wounded, she thrust a blunderbuss
through the window and with buck-shot swept a bloody road. But her
generous heart had kept her poor, and her back was bending with years
made heavy by loss of sleep, sitting up, nursing the sick.

While she was stirring about, making ready for supper, Margaret, giving
to herself a sudden straightening, stepped forward and remarked:

"Now, Miz Spencer, you air mistaken if you think you air any gamer than
I am. Why, if necessity demanded, I could load a shot-gun with tears an'
scald a enemy to death. I don't know quite as much about my folks as you
do yourn, but I kin ricolleck a red puddle on the doorstep. So now, we
air standin' on equal ground. Miz Barker, I reckon it's yo' nature to
cry, so jest pitch in an' cry all you want to while we air gittin'
supper; an' then in the night, I'll change yo' pillow every time it gits
too wet fur you."

"Gracious me, I don't want to cry that bad," Mrs. Barker replied.
"There's a time for all things, an' I'm from a fightin' fam'ly, too,
I'll give you to understand. Have you got any right young pigs? If you
have, suppose we kill one an' roast it--'twon't take long."

This suggestion met with approval, and with the help of Kintchin,
helloaed out of a nap behind the smoke-house, a pig was slaughtered and
barbecued. In Old Jasper's house that night there was a feast--a strange
picture, three old women at table and an old negro, with watery mouth,
standing in the door.