him just at this juncture in their lives, therefore he quietly evaded further comment, feeling assured that it was not his duty to show this simple, sweet child of the mountainside how incorrectly she spoke, although he would gladly have done so could it have been done without in the least affecting her feelings. The time was not opportune. She was sensitive, perhaps, in a large degree, and he cared not to trample upon her sensibility. Far better that he place himself on a plane equal to her own as regards the use of the English language; otherwise she was more than his equal. Besides, he was in sore need of friends to assist him in fulfilling his purpose.

"No one may ever say that you are not quite right," he said jovially. "If they do, you may call on me and I'll see to it that justice is done."

He smiled and she could not refrain from smiling.

"I forgive ye," she said, "because ye are a lonely bachelor, an' I don't want ye ter feel bad. Ye look so lonesome."

"Thank you. It is very lonely down at my cabin just now, though I surely will become accustomed to this quiet life soon. Then all loneliness will disappear, I presume. Just think of a fellow being away out here by his lonesome self all day and all night, without a human soul to vent his wrath upon or to have a quiet conversation with, and your old brindle cow won't come down that way any more."

She blushed, the crimson covering her face making her appear the more beautiful, if such was possible. The flickering sunlight played on her face as she replied, "She mout a-come agin fer all ye know sometime."

"If she does, I hope she'll get entirely lost deep down in the woodland."

She turned sharply toward him.

"What fer?"

"So you may take longer to look for her, and upon discovering your inability to locate her, may request the newcomer to aid you in the search."

She was studiously silent for a moment, her feet still swinging to and fro underneath the porch. "I know these woods better'n you."

"But we are to suppose that the hour is very late and you are quite afraid to go into the woodland for fear some wild beast will catch you."

Her merry laughter rang over the mountain.

"Would ye help me agin?" she asked.

"Every time."

Again she sat silent.

"Old brindle mout git out agin and she mout git lost. Whut's ther book ye brought me?"

"A story of the Dark Ages."

"Whut's that?"

"What?"

"Ther Dark Ages."

"Oh, that's a time away back yonder before you were born."

"Hit was putty dark in them days, wasn't it?"

Wade's face flushed perceptibly, but he smiled.

"You cannot be so very much younger than myself," he said.

"I don't know how old ye are, but I know I'm old 'nough ter go ter town alone, an' can bring the cows home when Tom's not here."

"Who is Tom?"

"My only brother. Ye seed him t'other night when ye come with me ter fetch the old brindle cow home, didn't ye?"

"I saw someone on horse back coming up the road."

"Did he see ye?" She bent over and looked straight into Wade's eyes.

"I tried to keep him from doing so. I stepped behind a sheltering bush while he passed, not that I particularly cared for his seeing me, but I felt for your safety. You had told me that your father must not see you with me, therefore I was in hiding for you, not for myself at all."

"Ye needn't," she replied warmly. "It's fer yourself I'm lookin' out. I can take care of me. The next time ye can, jest keep on in ther middle of ther road ef ye think yer hidin' fer me. Ye hain't, no, ye hain't."

Again Wade thoroughly misunderstood. "Let us keep peace," he said tenderly, "because you are my nearest neighbor now, and I'm a most neighborly fellow. I came over to-day because I believe neighbors ought to be friendly."

"Is that all?" she asked, a wild and troubled expression in her dark eyes. "No, not all, not quite all," he answered thoughtfully. "Had there not been an attraction here——"

"Whut's 'attraction'?" she interrupted shyly.

"Something to bring a fellow." She could not seem to understand.

"Your hoss could a-done that."

Wade laughed outright. The silvery notes touched deep down into the girl's very heart and soul, and she laughed a joyous laugh.

"I mean there is something on the other end to attract, to cause a fellow to have a desire to go. For instance, a magnetic power attracts other things, other bits of steel directly to it——"

"Whut's magnetic power?" she asked, interrupting.

"Haven't you seen a lodestone or a bit of steel in the shape of a horseshoe that will pick up a needle of its own power?"

"I can do that. Is it a sign that I'm magnetic?"

"Sure. You are the power of attraction just now."

"Aw," she ejaculated, looking shyly at him, "I don't know whut you mean yet."

"I'll bring a stone when I go to the village again and teach you something of the power of magnetism."

"Ye needn't. I know all about that. Al Thompson said onct that I was so powerful a magnetic that he jest couldn't keep away from me. Now I know whut he meant."

"Who is Al Thompson?" asked Wade.

"Why, don't ye know? He's ther wolf—night-watch jest now."

"You are talking strange things to me, Nora. I don't know the wolf—night-watch—at all." The girl placed her finger over her lips. "Here comes Mam," she said.

The scrawny figure of Mrs. Judson appeared in the doorway. "Nora," she said, drawling, "who'd ye say this man was?"

"His name is Jack. That's all I remember."

"Wade," said Jack, smiling.

"That's hit, Mam, Jack Wade. Well, he's ther newcomer, an' our neighbor, an' he's come over ter make hisself 'quainted with us."

"Yer welcome, neighbor Wade," said Mrs. Judson. "Whar be ye from?"

"All the way from New York City."

"Phew!" whistled Nora, dangling her feet a little more furiously. "That's ther biggest city whut hit is, haint it?"

"Well, the largest in the United States, at any rate."

"Be ye a-goin' ter raise terbacker——"

"Tobacco, Mam," corrected Nora, with a knowing wink.

"Whar'd yer l'arn ter be so smart?" asked Mrs. Judson angrily.

"From Jack here. He's been teachin' me ther smart ways of ther town folks."

Jack smiled good-naturedly. He did not intend raising tobacco in great quantities, he said, as he was here on account of his health, but would raise some tobacco, just enough to keep him engaged, to keep him out of deeper mischief.

"I might have the same fate served out to me as did one over yonder a few nights back, if I should raise much tobacco."

For a moment there was a deep silence over the trio. Nora looked quickly up toward the mountain, while her mother cast her eyes downward and counted the cracks in the porch floor.

"Ye mout come through all right," she said finally.

"I might, and I may conclude to raise a large crop some time. I have lately purchased the old Redmond farm, but don't intend using it for the time being. A fellow living a lonely life does not feel greatly like working much."

"Ye've got the richest land in ther whole valley," said Mrs. Judson, "that's sure."

"I have heard so. I look for great crops off it in the future. Do not hope to meet the same fate the former owner met with."

"Not very likely that ye will. I hope not."

"Thank you."

Wade, feeling that to prolong his call at this time would be encroaching on mountain hospitality, excused himself, promising to come again.

"I'm very sorry," he said, "not to have met your men folks."

"They mout be here next time you call," said Nora, following him out to the gate, loath to see him going. "I'll read ther book clean through. Good-by, Jack."

"Good-by, Nora."

There was something attractive in young Jack Wade's bearing that caused Nora Judson to look long after him as he wended down the road toward his own cabin. Once he looked back and