deep an' deep holes where hit looks shaller, an' currents what's hid
'way down under that'll ketch an' drag you in when you ain't a-thinkin',
an' drown you sure. 'Tain't all of the river what Auntie Sue an' youuns
kin see from the porch. You see, I knows 'bout hit,--'bout them other
things I mean,--'cause I was borned and growed up a-knowin' 'bout
'em; an'--an'--the next time you-all writes er book, Mr. Burns, I 'low
you-all ought ter put in 'bout them there snags an' things, 'cause folks
sure got ter know 'bout 'em, if they ain't a-wantin' ter git drowned."

When Judy had gone into the house, Brian again sat alone on the porch.

An hour, perhaps, had passed when a voice behind him said: "Why, Brian,
are you still up? I supposed you were in bed long ago."

He turned to see Auntie Sue, standing in the doorway.

"And what in the world are you prowling about for, this time of the
night?" Brian retorted, bringing a chair for her.

"I am prowling because I couldn't sleep,--thinking about you, Brian,"
she answered.

"I fear that is the thing that is keeping me up, too," he returned
grimly.

"I know," she said gently. "Sometimes, one's self does keep one awake.
Is it--is it anything you care to tell me? Would it help for me to
know?"

For some time, he did not answer; while the old teacher waited silently.