ell as of many gentlemen not so
young.

Old men--farmers with daughters of their own--would cheerfully forego
the delights of either a prayer-meeting or a circus, and suddenly find
some business to transact with Matalette, whenever there seemed a
reasonable chance of seeing Helen; and such of them as had sons of a
marriageable age would express to those young men their entire
willingness to be promoted to the rank of fathers-in-law.

There was just one unpleasant thing about the Matalettes, both father
and daughter, and that was, the ease with which one could startle them.

It was rather chilling, until one knew Matalette well, to see him
tremble and start violently on being merely slapped on the shoulder by
some one whose approach he had not noticed; it was equally unpleasant
for a newcomer, on suddenly confronting Helen, to see her turn pale, and
look quickly and furtively about, as if preparing to run.

The editor of the _Bonpas Cornblade_, in a sonnet addressed to "H.M.,"
compared this action to that of a startled fawn; but the public wondered
whether Helen's father could possibly be excused in like manner, and
whether the comparison could, with propriety, be extended so as to
include the three hired men, who, curiously enough, were equally
timorous at first acquaintance.

But this single fault of the Matalettes and their adherents was soon
forgotten, for it did not require a long residence in Bonpas Bottoms to
make the acquaintance of every person living in that favored section,
and strangers--except such passengers as occasionally strolled ashore
while the steamboat landed supplies for the store, or shipped the grain
which Matalette was continually buying and sending to New
Orleans--seldom found their way to Bonpas Bottoms.

The Matalettes sat at supper one evening, when there was heard a knock
at the door. There was in an instant an unusual commotion about the
table, at which sat the three hired men, with the host and his
daughter--a commotion most extraordinary for a land in which neither
Indians nor burglars were known.

Each of the hired men hastily clicked something under the table, while
Helen turned pale, but quickly drew a small stiletto from a fold of her
dress.

"Ready?" asked Matalette, in a low tone, as he took a candle from the
table, and placed his unoccupied hand in his pocket.

"Yes," whispered each of the men, while Helen nodded.

"Who's there?" shouted Matalette, approaching the outer