must have been an escaped redemptioner, for he wore jauntily a swanskin
three-cornered hat and stained breeches of a fine cloth. He was a bold,
vain fellow.

"My beauty," says he, as we sat at supper, "silver and Wedgwood better
become you than pewter and a trencher."

"And I reckon a rope would sit better on your neck than a ruff," retorted
Polly Ann, while the company shouted with laughter. But he was not the
kind to become discomfited.

"I'd give a guinea to see you in silk. But I vow your hair looks better
as it is."

"Not so yours," said she, like lightning; "'twould look better to me
hanging on the belt of one of them red devils."

In the morning, when he would have lifted the pack of alum salt, Polly
Ann gave him a push that sent him sprawling. But she did it in such good
nature withal that the fellow mistook her. He scrambled to his feet,
flung his arm about her waist, and kissed her. Whereupon I hit him with
a sapling, and he staggered and let her go.

"You imp of hell!" he cried, rubbing the bump. He made a vicious dash at
me that boded no good, but I slipped behind the hominy block; and Polly
Ann, who was like a panther on her feet, dashed at him and gave him a
buffet in the cheek that sent him reeling again.

After that we were more devoted friends than ever.