rose and ran on, and, splashing into the angry little stream, shot
away like a roll of birch bark through the tawny crest of a big
wave. He had done the feat a hundred times; he knew every rock
and eddy in flood-time, and he floated through them and slipped
like an eel into the mill-pond. Old Gabe was waiting for him.

"Whut ye mean, boy," he said, sharply, reskin' the fever an' ager
this way? No wonder folks thinks ye air half crazy. Git inter them
clothes now 'n' come in hyeh. You'll ketch yer death o' cold
swimmin' this way atter a fresh."

The boy was shivering when he took his seat at the funnel, but he
did not mind that; some day he meant to swim over that dam.
Steve still lay motionless in the corner near him, and Isom lifted
the slouched hat and began tickling his lips with a straw. Steve
was beyond the point of tickling, and Isom dropped the hat back
and turned to tell the miller what he had seen in the thicket. The
dim interior darkened just then, and Crump stood in the door. Old
Gabe stared hard at him without a word of welcome, but Crump
shuffled to a chair unasked, and sat like a toad astride it, with his
knees close up under his arms, and his wizened face in his hands.

Meeting Isom's angry glance, he shifted his own uneasily.

Seed the new preacher comm' 'long today?" he asked. Drawing
one dirty finger across his forehead, " Got a long scar 'cross hyeh."

The miller shook his head.

Well, he's a-comm'. I've been waitin' fer him up the road, but I