, in a constant tremble, as if he expected some dire accident to
befall him, sat beside Mrs. Mayfield. Once he dropped a dish, and later
leaning back in his chair, the hind legs of which were too short, tipped
over and came near upsetting the table. Tom and Lou tittered; Jasper
roared till the tears ran down his brown cheeks; Margaret reproved him
and all was in confusion till Mrs. Mayfield's gentle words pattered
musically among them like rain in the dust. She did not take notice of
the ludicrous mishap, and when Jim had scrambled to his feet and was
standing there ridiculous with a dry grin, she said to him: "I know you
must be fond of books, and when I return home I will send you
some--books that I have read and marked when the hours were long."

The preacher recovered himself. "Ma'm," said he, "in a book yo' pencil
would make a high price mark, and from one man that I know of there
could be no purchase."

"I gad," snorted Old Jasper, "dinged if he didn't git right up and stand
higher than he was befo'."

"Jasper," Margaret protested, "I wouldn't make fun of the way a man
stands. It don't sound right."

"My dear," Mrs. Mayfield replied to Margaret, motherly, though young,
"he paid Mr. Reverend a pretty compliment."

"Now did he?" Margaret rejoined. "Wall, if he did I'm mighty glad of it,
but the truth is, Miz Mayfield, Jasper is so full of his pranks you
never can tell how to take him. Lou, why don't you pass the butter to
Mr. Elliott; and the bread? Can't you see nothin' at all? I hope you
will excuse her, Mr. Elliott, fur she sometimes furgits though she did
go to school for two years over at Dry Fork."

Tom begged her not to worry about him. He was nearing that stage when
physical appetite is forgotten, when our entire nature, faults, virtues,
all littlenesses and greater qualities, are thrown into a heap to feed
the bonfire of love. An old man may love like a fool, but the boy loves
like a hero. The old man who believes that he is loved by a girl is a
reveler in the debauchery of his own vanity. With an egotism unknown to
youth, he believes. The "sweet thing" tells him with an air of wisdom
that she could not love youth, that it is but an animated folly, and he
believes her. But the boy is uncertain and doubts himself. His love,
instead of inspiring confidence within his own breast, inhabits his
heart with the ghost of fear. The old man talks platitudes and knows
that he is convincing. The boy stammers his