of mock seriousness; and when they went out, Starbuck slapped
his leg and snorted with laughter. Margaret reproved him with her ever
industrious eye.

"Blamed if I didn't think they was goin' to dance right thar," said the
old man.

"Jasper, what makes you wanter talk thatter way?"

"Didn't see how they could keep from it, Margaret. Couldn't see no way
to hold 'em back. Jest as ready to dance as the b'ar and the monkey that
the feller come along the road with last year, mebbe year befo' last. I
tell you, Jim ain't been a readin' them books on the hill-top fur
nothin'. I gad, every time he looks at her he flips a star." He walked
about the room, shaking his head. "The po' feller's hit. I gad, when you
flutter fine calico the preachers come a runnin' with the rest of 'em.
She's caught him, but he'll suffer an' say nuthin'. It's mighty hard
work to wring a squeal outen a Starbuck. In that respeck we air sorter
like wild hogs. I've seed a dog chaw a wild pig all to pieces an' he
tuck it with never a squeal--mout have grunted a little, but he didn't
squeal. Puffeckly nat'ral to grunt under sich circumstances, ain't it?"

"Oh, what do I care for yo' nonsense?"

"Nonsense! The affairs of the human fam'ly ain't nonsense, is they?
Heigho, but she's a mighty good woman."

"Of course," said Margaret, crossing the room and sitting down in a
rocking-chair. "Of course. A man thinks every woman's good--but his
wife."

"Had to break out, didn't you? Have I said you wan't good?"

"Might as well say it as to act it."

"How am I actin' it?"

"By not lovin' me, that's how."

"Not lovin' you. Have you got any postal-kyard or tillygram to that
effeck? I ain't sent you no sich news. Look here, did you ever notice
that when a woman's daughter gits up about grown--when the young fellers
begin to cut scollops about her--did you ever notice that about that
time she begins to complain that her husband don't love her? Hah? Did
you?"

"Oh, it's no sich of a thing," she replied, slowly rocking. "You know
you don't love me as much as you did yo' fust wife."

For a time the old fellow gazed at her, saying nothing; and then came
slow, deep-rumbling words: "Margaret, air you jealous o' that po' little
grave down yander under the hill? You never seed her, the mother o' my
two sons that went with me to pour out their blood fur their country;
and when she hearn that they wan't a comin' back, she pined away and
died and was buried under the