"Must I do it, grandpa?"

"Of course you must! I'm afraid you ain't a true Granger, Ralph, or
you wouldn't ask no such question."

"But why should I do it, grandpa?"

"Listen at the boy."

The sharp-eyed, grizzled old man rose from his seat before the fire,
and took down an ancient looking, muzzle loading rifle from over the
cabin door.

"I'll tell you why."

He patted the gun, now lying across his knees.

"This here was your father's gun. He carried it for many years. I had
it when the feud betwixt the Grangers and the Vaughns first began. He
had it with him when he was shot down at the Laurel Branch by John
Vaughn, just six years ago today."

"Today is my birthday," commented Ralph, a sturdy-limbed, ruddy-faced
lad.

"And you are fifteen. Think of that; 'most a man. I said I'd wait
till you was fifteen, and as it happens, his son's a goin' to mill
today."

"What of that?"