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 door.

"I--Asbury Crewne--the new circuit preacher," replied a voice. "I'm wet,
cold and hungry--can you give me shelter, in the name of my Master?"

"Certainly!" cried Matalette, hastening to open the door, while the
three hired men rapidly repocketed their pistols, and Helen gave vent to
a sigh of relief.