"'Fraid of your brother, hey?" he inquired.

She bumped her forehead gently on his shoulder in nod of assent.

"I reckon ye like me?"

"Oh, Aaron!" It was a volume of rebuke, appeal, and affection in two
words.

"Then there ain't nothin' more to say, little woman. You ain't never
had any one to look out for your int'rests in this life. After this,
it's me that does it. I don't want your money. I've got plenty of
my own. But your interests bein' my interests after this, you hand
ev'rything over to me, and I'll put a twist in the tail of that Bengal
tiger in your fam'ly that 'll last him all his life."

At the end of a long talk he sent her away with a pat on her shoulder
and a cheery word in her ear.

It was Old Man Jordan who, a week or so later, on his way to the village
with butter in his bucket, stood in the middle of the road and tossed
his arms so frenziedly that Colonel Ward, gathering up his speed
behind the willows, pulled up with an oath.

"Ye're jest gittin' back from up-country, ain't ye?" asked Uncle
Jordan.

"What do you mean, you old fool, by stoppin' me when I'm busy? What
be ye, gittin' items for newspapers?"