Civil War, and the two men ever since had been friends.

"I don't quite see why any one sh'd elect to take a hand in any such doin's unless he has to," the Kentuckian resumed, after a pause; "that census business seems kind of inquisitive some way to me."

"But it seems to me that it's the right kind of 'inquisitive.'"

"I reckon I hadn't thought o' there bein' more'n one kind of inquisitiveness," the mountaineer said, with a smile, "but if you say so, I s'pose it's all right."

"But don't you think the questions are easy enough?" asked the boy.

"They may be easy, but thar's no denyin' that some of 'em are mighty unpleasant to answer."

"But if they are necessary?"

"Thar's a-plenty o' folks hyeh in the mount'ns that yo' c'n never make see how knowin' their private affairs does the gov'nment any good."

"But you don't feel that way, Uncle Eli, surely?"

"Wa'al, I don' know. Settin' here talkin' about it, I know it's all right, an' I'm willin' to tell all I know. But I jes' feel as sure as c'n be, that befo' the census-taker gets through hyeh, I'm goin' to be heated up clar through."

"But why?" queried the lad again. "The questions are plain enough, and there was practically no trouble at the last census. I think it's a fine thing, and every one ought to be glad to help. And it's so important, too!"

"Important!" protested the old man. "Did yo' ever see any one that ever sat down an' read those tables an' tables o' figures?"

"Not for fun, perhaps," the boy admitted. "But it isn't done for the sake of getting interesting reading matter; it's because those figures really are necessary. Why there's hardly a thing that you can think of that the census isn't at the back of."

"I don't see how that is. They don't ask about a man's politics, I notice," the mountaineer remarked.

"No," answered Hamilton promptly, "but the number of members a State sends to Congress depends on the figures of the population that the census-takers gather, and the only claim that any legislator has to his seat is based on their information."

"I suppose you'd say the same about schools, too."

"Of course," the boy answered.

"But I hear the Census Bureau this year wants all sorts of information about the crops an' the number of pigs kept an' all that sort o' stuff."

"Don't you think the food of all the people of the United States is important enough, Uncle Eli? And then the railroads, too,—they depend on the figures about the crops and all sorts of other things which go as freight."

"You seem to know a lot about it," the mountaineer said, looking thoughtfully at the boy.

"I ought to," Hamilton said, "because I'm going to be an assistant special agent in the Census of Manufactures right away. I applied last October and took the exam a couple of weeks before coming here on this visit."

"What makes yo' so cocksure that you've passed the examination?" he was asked.

"I didn't find it so hard," Hamilton replied, "figures have always been easy for me, and when my brother was studying for that chartered accountant business I learned a lot from him."

"Your dad, he was a great hand fo' figures, so I s'pose yo' come by it naturally enough. An' you're jes' sure you've passed?"

"I haven't heard one way or the other," said Hamilton, "but I'm pretty sure."

"Wa'al, thar's no use sayin' anythin' if you're all sot, but it's the business of the gov'nment, an' I'd let them do it."

"But I'm hoping to work right with the government all the time, Uncle Eli," the boy explained "either with the Census Bureau or the Bureau of Statistics or some work like that. And anyway, if it's the government's business, I'm an American and it's my business."

"Yo' have the right spirit, boy," the old man said, "an' I like to see it, but you're huntin' trouble sure's you're born. S'posin' yo' asked the questions of some ol' sorehead that wouldn' answer?"

"He'd have to answer," replied Hamilton stoutly, "there's a law to make him."

"I don't believe that law's used much," hazarded the old man.

"It isn't," Hamilton found himself forced to admit. "I believe there were not very many arrests all over the country last census. But the law's there, just the same."

"It wouldn' be a law on the Ridge," the mountaineer said, "an' I don' believe it would do yo' any good anywhar else. On the mount'ns, I know, courtesy is a whole lot bigger word than constitution. Up hyeh, we follow the law when we're made to, follow an idee backed up by a rifle-barrel because we have to, but there's not many men hyeh that won' do anythin' yo' ask if yo' jes' ask the right way."

"But there are always some that give trouble," Hamilton protested, trying to defend his position.

The old Kentuckian slowly shook his head from side to side.

"If yo' don' win out by courtesy," he said, "it's jes' because yo' haven' been courteous enough, because yo' haven' taken yo' man jes' right. Thar isn't any such thing as bein' too gracious. An' anyway, a census-taker with any other idee up hyeh would be runnin' chances right along."

"You mean they would shoot him up?" asked Hamilton.

"I think if he threatened some folks up hyeh an' in the gullies thar might be trouble."

"But the fact that he represented the government would insure him from harm, I should think."

"I don't think much of that insurance idee," the old man said. "I can't remember that it helped the revenue men sech a great deal. The only insurance I ever had was a quick ear, an' even now, I c'n hear a twig snap near a quarter of a mile away. An' that used to be good insurance in the ol' days when, if yo' weren't gunnin' for somebody, thar was somebody gunnin' fo' you."

"But there's no one 'gunning' for you now, is there, Uncle Eli?" asked the boy amusedly.

"I haven't b'n lookin' out especially," the Kentuckian responded, with an answering slow smile, "an' I reckon sometimes that I might jes' as well leave the ol' rifle in the house when I go out."

"But you never do," put in Hamilton quickly.

"I reckon that's jes' a feelin'," rejoined the mountaineer, "jes' one o' these habits that yo' hate to give up. I'd sort o' be lost without it now, after all these years. Thar's no one to worry about, anyway, savin' Jake Howkle, an' I don' believe he's hankerin' for blood-lettin'."

"Jake? Oh, never," Hamilton replied with assurance; "why, he's only about my age."

"That's only partly why," the old man said, "not only because he's your age, but because he's b'n at school. Shootin' an' schoolin' don' seem to hit it off. I reckon thar would have b'n a sight less trouble in the mount'ns if thar had b'n mo' schools."

"There are plenty of schools in the mountains now, aren't there?" asked Hamilton. "It must be very different here, Uncle Eli, from what it was when you were a boy."

"Thar has been quite a change, an' the change is comin' faster now. But thar's still a lot o' folk who a'nt altered a bit sence the war. You city people call us slow-movin' up hyeh, an' as long as thar's any o' the ol' spirit abroad thar's a chance o' trouble. If yo' really are goin' in for this census-takin', I'd keep clar o' the mount'ns."

"You really would?" queried the boy thoughtfully.

"An' what's more," continued his Uncle, "I would jes' as soon that yo' didn' have anythin' to do with it near hyeh. I don' want to see any little differences between families, such as census-takin' is likely to provoke."

"Why, Uncle