epoch, expressions like the above were usually followed by prompt
action, a fracas was confidently looked for.

Nothing, however, occurred. Colonel Starbottle made his appearance next
day upon the streets with somewhat of his usual pomposity, a little
restrained by the presence of his nephew, who accompanied him, and who,
as a universal favorite, also exercised some restraint upon the curious
and impertinent. But Culpepper's face wore a look of anxiety quite at
variance with his usual grave repose. "The Don don't seem to take
the old man's set-back kindly," observed the sympathizing blacksmith.
"P'r'aps he was sweet on Dolores himself," suggested the sceptical
expressman.

It was a bright morning, a week after this occurrence, that Miss Jo
Folinsbee stepped from her garden into the road. This time the latch did
not click as she cautiously closed the gate behind her. After a moment's
irresolution, which would have been awkward but that it was charmingly
employed, after the manner of her sex, in adjusting a bow under a
dimpled but rather prominent chin, and in pulling down the fingers of
a neatly fitting glove, she tripped toward the settlement. Small wonder
that a passing teamster drove his six mules into the wayside ditch and
imperilled his load, to keep the dust from her spotless garments; small
wonder that the "Lightning Express" withheld its speed and flash to let
her pass, and that the expressman, who had never been known to exchange
more than rapid monosyllables with his fellow-man, gazed after her with
breathless admiration. For she was certainly attractive. In a country
where the ornamental sex followed the example of youthful Nature, and
were prone to overdress and glaring efflorescence, Miss Jo's simple
and tasteful raiment added much to the physical charm of, if it did
not actually suggest a sentiment to, her presence. It is said that