sold out last fall, an' they've been thar ever sence."


Supper was 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