served in the room adjoining the kitchen. After it was
over, Westerfelt and his host went back to the sitting-room. Alf, a
colored farm-hand, was heaping logs on the old-fashioned dog-irons in
the wide fireplace, and a mass of fat pine burning under the wood
lighted the room with a soft red glow.

Westerfelt looked round him in surprise. While they were at supper the
carpet had been taken up, the floor swept clean, and a number of chairs
placed against the wall round the room.

"Marthy's doin's," Bradley explained, sheepishly; "don't hold me
accountable; she's arranged to give you a shindig to introduce you to
the young folks round about."

Just then Mrs. Bradley came in.

"Sweep the hearth, Alf," she said, pointing to a live coal that had
popped out on the floor. "Didn't I tell you never to put on them
chestnut logs? Do you want to burn the roof over our heads? Give it
to me!" She snatched the unwieldy bundle of broomstraw from him. "Go
tell Mis' Snow I'm much obleeged fer the cheers, an' ef I need any more
I'll send fer um after 'while. Tell 'er ef she don't let Mary an' Ella
come I'll never set foot in her house agin."

"What's all this for?" asked Westerfelt.

"_You_." She slapped him familiarly on the arm. "I'm goin' to give
you a mount'in welcome. This settlement is full o' nice gals, an' you
hain't the least idee how much excitement thar's been sence the report
went out that you are gwine to live amongst us. I'm the most popular
woman in Cartwright, jest beca'se I know you. I tell you I've been
blowin' yore horn. I've talked a sight about you, an' you must do yore
best an' look yore purtiest. Oh, yore clothes is all right!" (seeing
that he was looking doubtfully at his boots and trousers). "They
hain't a dressy set over heer." Her husband was leaving the room, and
she waited till he had closed the door after him. "I want to talk to
you like a mother, John," she said, sitting down near him and holding
the bundle of broom between her knees. "The truth is, I've had a sight
o' worry over you. I often lie awake at night thinkin' about you, an'
wonderin' ef yore ma wouldn't blame me ef she wus alive fer not lookin'
atter you more. I've heerd what a solitary life you've been livin'
sence she died. God knows she wus a big loss, an' it does bring a
great change to part with sech a friend, but, from what I heer, you let
'er death bother you most too much. Why, folks tell me you hain't at
all