had dreamed the temptation and his rescue, but for his dripping
garments and Tennessee in his arms all soaking with the rain.

The noise of his entrance roused his mother, who stared in drowsy
astonishment at the bedraggled apparition on the threshold.

"Tennie follered me ter the tanyard 'fore I fund her out," Birt
explained. "It 'pears ter hev rained on her, considerable," he
added deprecatingly.

Tennie was looking eagerly over her shoulder to note the effect of
this statement. Her streaming hair flirted drops of water on the
floor; her cheeks were ruddy; her black eyes brightened with
apprehension.

"Waal, sir! that thar child beats all. Never mind, Tennie, ye'll
meet up with a wild varmint some day when ye air follerin' Birt off
from the house, an' I ain't surprised none ef it eats ye! But
shucks!" Mrs. Dicey continued impersonally, "I mought ez well save
my breath; Tennie ain't feared o' nuthin', ef Birt air by."

The word "varmint" seemed to recall something to Tennessee. She
began to chatter unintelligibly about an "owEL," and to chuckle so,
that Birt had sudden light upon that mysterious laugh which he had
heard behind him at the bars.

In his pride in Tennessee he related how the owl had startled him,
and the little girl, invisible in the darkness, had laughed.

"Tennessee ain't pretty, I know, but she air powerful peart," he