you've been doin' while I was away."

Sammy told of' her visit to their friends at the Matthews place,
and of the stranger who had come into the neighborhood. As the
girl talked, her father questioned her carefully, and several
times the metallic note crept into his soft, drawling speech,
while into his eyes came that peculiar, searching look, as if he
would draw from his daughter even more than she knew of the
incident. Once he rose, and, going to the door, stood looking out
into the night.

Sammy finished with her answer to Mandy Ford's opinion of the
stranger; "You don't reckon a revenue would ask a blessin', do
you, Daddy? Seems like he just naturally wouldn't dast; God would
make the victuals stick in his throat and choke him sure."

Jim laughed, as he replied, "I don't know, girl; I never heard of
a revenue's doin' such. But a feller can't tell."

When Sammy left him to retire for the night, her father picked up
the violin again, and placed it beneath his chin as if to play;
but he did not touch the strings, and soon hung the instrument in
its place above the mantel. Then, going to the doorway, he lighted
his pipe, and, for a full hour, sat, looking up the Old Trail
toward the Matthews place, his right hand thrust into the bosom of
his hickory shirt, where the button was missing.