Madison hesitated, and looked at McGee. "He wasn't asked," said that
gentleman cheerfully. "One's company, two's none! You don't know him,
my dear; and this yer ain't a gin'ral invitation to the Bar. You follow
me?"

To this Mrs. McGee made no comment, but proceeded to show Madison over
the little cottage. Yet in a narrow passage she managed to touch his
hand, lingered to let her husband precede them from one room to another,
and once or twice looked meaningly into his eyes over McGee's shoulder.
Disconcerted and embarrassed, he tried to utter a few commonplaces, but
so constrainedly that even McGee presently noticed it. And the result
was still more embarrassing.

"Look yer," he said, suddenly turning to them both. "I reckon as how you
two wanter talk over old times, and I'll just meander over to the claim,
and do a spell o' work. Don't mind ME. And if HE"--indicating Madison
with his finger--"gets on ter religion, don't you mind him. It won't
hurt you, Safie,--no more nor my revolver,--but it's pow'ful persuadin',
and you understand me? You follow me? Well, so long!"

He turned away quickly, and was presently lost among the trees. For an
instant the embarrassed Madison thought of following him; but he was
confronted by Mrs. McGee's wicked eyes and smiling face between him
and the door. Composing herself, however, with a simulation of perfect
gravity she pointed to a chair.

"Sit down, Brother Wayne. If you're going to convert me, it may take
some time, you know, and you might as well make yourself comfortable.
As for me, I'll take the anxious bench." She laughed with a certain
girlishness, which he well remembered, and leaped to a sitting posture