ABOUT this time Paul paid his first visit to the attractive cottage now occupied by Warren and his wife and sister-in-law. As he entered at the front door he saw his mother in the meadow some distance from the house. Amanda was dusting the new furniture in the little parlor, and, seeing him, she came forward with a flushed, pleased look on her round face.

“Oh, we have got things to goin' scrumptious!” she laughed, as she grasped his hand and drew him into the parlor. “Paul, it's a regular palace. The day the furniture come we all worked till away after dark gettin' things straight. That's the best cook-stove I ever saw, an' you sent enough groceries to last a month. I made your ma go to town an' buy the clothes she needed, too. The storekeeper said the more we ordered the better it would please him, for thar wasn't no limit to your credit. Oh, Paul, I wish I could think it was right.”

“But it is right,” he smiled, reassuringly. “It is right because it makes me happy to be able to do it.”

“That's what Ethel Mayfield said—”

“Ethel!” he broke in, his smile subsiding. “Have you seen her? Has she—”

“Oh, yes, she was over yesterday. Paul, she's awfully nice. I don't know when I have ever seen a nicer young lady. She ain't one bit stuck up. She was passin' along by the gate an' stopped an' introduced herself to me an' Addie. She offered to come in an' help fix up the house, said she'd love to the best in the world, but we wouldn't let 'er.”

“And you say that she said—” Paul began, tensely, “that she said I—”

“Yes; you see, your ma begun sayin' that she couldn't feel right about lettin' you do so much for us after all that's passed, and you know how Addie is—she set in to cry. That's when I discovered Ethel Mayfield's woman-heart. She choked up 'erself, an' put 'er arm round your ma in the tenderest way, and said—Paul, she said you was the best young man the sun ever shone on. You never heard the like since you was born. It looked like nothin' would stop 'er. The more she went on the more your ma cried, an' that started me, an' we was the silliest bunch o' blubberers you ever saw—wet every rag in sight. I had to change my apron. Ethel said you'd made a different sort o' creature of her from what she used to be. She declared she seed all things with a clearer sight—that thar wasn't any human difficulty you couldn't surmount. She told your ma that she knowed it was a regular joy to you to help 'er, an' that she must let you do it. I declare that girl looked like—I don't know what she did look like. She was as nigh an angel as any human I ever met. Her face was as tender as a rose an' her eyes was fairly streamin' with inside light. She kept takin' your ma by the hands an' pettin' 'er, an' tellin' 'er she was pretty. She told us how nigh distracted she'd been over her cousin's death, an' how you'd turned her sorrow into comfort by the beautiful way you looked at it.”

“She is very kind,” Paul said. “Is my mother coming in?”

“Yes, she'll be in right away. Say, Paul”—Amanda caught his lapel and held on to it—“is thar anything between you an'—I mean—it ain't none o' my business, but it seems to me like Ethel is just the sort o' girl that you would naturally take to, an'—” Paul detached himself from her clinging hold, and essayed a faint smile, while his blood beat furiously in his face.

“You mustn't think of such things,” he faltered, in a feeble effort to appear unconcerned. “She and I are good friends, that is all. You see, she is to inherit something from her uncle, and he has set his heart on her marrying a rich young man in Atlanta—a fellow that is all right, too, in every way. She knew him before she knew me, and—well, I am not a marrying man, anyway. I really don't think I ever shall marry. Some men have to stay single, you know.”

Amanda recaptured his lapels, and faced him with a warm stare of tenderness. “Paul, if I thought that us three old sticks-in-the-mud was standin' between you an' that purty, sweet girl—young as you are, with life spreadin' out before you like it is—after all your troubles, I—well, I couldn't let you—I just couldn't!”

“How silly of you to think of such a thing!” he laughed, freely. “This opportunity to help you all, slight as it is, will be the very making of me.”

“It's certainly makin' a man of Jeff,” Amanda smiled, through glad tears. “He's plumb different from what he used to be. He talks about you like you was a royal prince. He says he is acceptin' this help only as a loan, an' that he'll pay it back 'fore he dies or break a trace. He rises at daybreak, an' works like a steam-engine till after dark. He's quit singin'—says he's goin' to sell the organ. He's gittin' his health an' strength back, an' holds his head higher. A funny thing happened yesterday. You'd 'a' laughed if you'd been here. He's been talkin' powerful about some'n he heard you say in regard to controllin' the temper an' not hatin' folks, an' he hammers on it constantly. He says his temper has always held 'im down, an' that you naturally would have more respect for 'im if he'd control it. Me an' him happened to be stand-in' at the gate talkin' on that very subject, when we seed Jim Hoag ridin' along toward us. Now, Jeff hadn't met Hoag face to face since we got back, an' knowin' how quick on trigger Jeff was, an' how high an' mighty Hoag holds hisse'f with common folks, I was afraid the two might hitch right then an' thar. I knowed Jeff wouldn't avoid 'im and I was sure Hoag would make 'im mad if he had half a chance, an' so to avoid trouble I said to Jeff: 'Jeff,' said I, 'now is the time for you to practise some o' your preachin'. Meet Jim Hoag like you don't want no more trouble, an' all will be well betwixt you both in future.' I reminded 'im that it was railly his duty, seein' that you git your livin' out o' Hoag an' we was so much benefited.”

“And so they made friends,” Paul said, eagerly. “I was afraid the old score would revive again.”

“Made friends? I'll tell you how they acted an' you kin think what you like,” Amanda laughed. “I've seed Jeff in a tight place before, but not one o' that sort. He stood hangin' his head, his lips curlin' an' his eyes flashin', an' all the time Hoag's hoss was a-fetchin' 'im closer an' closer. I seed Jeff makin' a struggle like a man tryin' to come through at the mourner's bench in a revival an' bein' helt back by the devil an' all his imps, but the best side won, an' as Hoag got opposite the gate Jeff tuck a deep breath an' called out, 'Hold on a minute, Jim Hoag, I want a word with you.'”

“Good!” Paul laughed. “It was like pulling eyeteeth, but he got there, didn't he?”

“You wait till I'm through an' you'll see,” Amanda smiled broadly, as she stroked her face with her big hand. “Hoag drawed in his hoss an' looked down at Jeff with a face as yaller as a pumpkin an' eyes that fairly popped out o' their sockets.

“'What you want to see me about?' he axed, an' I declare he growled like a bear.

“'Why, you see, Jim,' Jeff said, leanin' on the gate, 'me an' you have always sorter been at outs, an' bein' as we are nigh neighbors ag'in I thought I'd come forward like a man an' tell you that, as far as I'm concerned, I'm sorry we hain't been able to git on better before this, an' that I hain't no ill-will any longer, an' am willin' to stack arms and declare peace.'”

“Good for Jeff!” Paul chuckled; “he unloaded, didn't he?”

“You wait till I git through,” Amanda tittered under her red, crinkled hand. “When Jeff got that out Hoag sorter lifted his reins, shoved his heels ag'in' his hoss an' snorted. Then I heerd 'im say: 'You look out for yourself, an' I'll do the same.'

“He was movin' on, when Jeff fairly wrenched the gate off its hinges an' plunged out. In a second he had the hoss by the bridle, an' was jerkin' it back on its haunches.

“'Say,' he yelled at Hoag, when the hoss got still, 'that thar's the fust an' only apology I ever made to a livin' man, an' if you don't accept it, and accept it quick, I'll have you off that hoss an' under my feet, whar I'll stomp some politeness into you.'

“Lord, I was scared!” Amanda continued, as she joined in her nephew's laugh; “for Jim Hoag was mad enough to eat a keg o' nails without chawin' 'em. I was on the p'int o' runnin' 'twixt the two when Hoag sobered down.”

“'I don't want no trouble with you, Jeff,' he said. 'Let loose my bridle. I want to go on home.' “'Well, do you accept? I heard Jeff yellin' at 'im, while he still hung to the reins.

“'Yes, I accept; I don't want no fuss,' Hoag said, an' Jeff let the hoss loose an' stood out o' the way.

“'It's a good thing you changed your mind,' he called after Hoag, who was joggin' on. 'I've sorter turned over a new leaf, but I hain't fastened it down any too tight. I could put up with some things from you, but you can't spit on my apology.'”

Paul laughed almost immoderately. “Socrates and Jesus Christ would have laid down different rules for human conduct if they had known those two men,” he said, as he went to the rear door and looked down toward his mother.

Amanda followed him. “Jim Hoag ain't the only person round here that's got a mean spirit,” she commented. “I'm thinkin' now about Tobe Williams's wife, Carrie; an' Jeff ain't the only one with a hot temper—I'm thinkin' now about myself.”

“You!” Paul smiled. “You were always as pleasing as a basket of chips.”

“You don't know me, boy.” Amanda subdued an inclination to smile. “I don't reckon I git mad oftener than once a year, but when I do I take a day off an' raise enough sand to build a court-house. I've already had my annual picnic since I got back.”

“I'm sure you are joking now,” Paul said, experimentally, an expression of amused curiosity clutching his face. “You couldn't have got angry at Mrs. Williams.”

“Didn't I, though—the triflin' hussy! She driv' by the day we was housed in that pore shack of a cabin, an' put up a tale about needin' somebody to help 'er out with her house-work an' bein' in sech a plight with her big brood o' children that I swallowed my pride an' agreed to help 'er. I mention pride because me'n Carrie went to school together an' had the same beaus. She roped one in, an' is entirely welcome to 'im, the Lord knows if she doesn't. Yes, I swallowed my pride an' went. I never hired out before, but I went. I reckon we was both lookin' at the thing different. I had the feelin' that I was jest, you know, helpin' a old friend out of a tight; an' well, I reckon, from the outcome, that Carrie thought she had hired a nigger wench.”

“Oh, no, don't put it that way,” Paul protested, half seriously, though his aunt's unwonted gravity amused him highly.

“Well, she acted plumb like it,” Amanda averred, her cheeks flushed, her eyes flashing. “All the way out to her house she was talkin' about Jeff's flat come-down, an' Addie's sad looks, an'—an', above all, our cabin. Said thar was a better one behind the barn, on her land, but she believed Tobe was goin' to pack fodder in it, an' so she reckoned we'd as well not apply for it. She kept talkin' about this here new cottage. She'd been through it, she said, an' it was fine, an' no doubt Bob Mayburn would rent it to some rich town family to pass the summers in. In that case she thought we'd naturally feel uncomfortable—she knowed she would if she was in our fix, an' have to live right up ag'in' folks that was so different. Take my word for it, Paul, she got me so all-fired hot that I wanted to jump over the buggy-wheels an' walk back home. I'd 'a' done it, too, but for one thing.”

“What was that?” Paul inquired, still amused. “Pride,” was the half-laughing answer. “Do you know the awkwardest predicament on earth is to git whar you are as mad as old Harry, an' at the same time would rather die on the rack than let it be knowed? Well, that woman had me in that fix. She was playin' with me like a kitten with a dusty June-bug. She knowed what she was sayin' all right, an' she knowed, too, that I wouldn't slap 'er in the mouth—because I was too much of a lady. But if she didn't cut gaps in me an' rub brine in no woman ever clawed an' scratched another.”

“Too bad!” Paul said, biting his lips. “I am wondering how it ended.”

“You may well wonder,” Amanda went on. “I wanted to throw up the job, but was ashamed to let 'er see how mad I was. It was even wiles after we got to her house. She tuck me straight to the kitchen, an' with the air of a queen she p'inted to the nastiest lot o' pots an' pans you ever laid eyes on, an' said she reckoned I'd have to give 'em a good scrubbin' fust, as they was caked with grease. Then she told me what she wanted for supper. Tobe liked string-beans, an' none 'had been fetched from the patch, an' I'd have plenty o' time to pick 'em, an' so on, an' so on. I saw I was in a hole an' tried to make the best of it. But when I come to put the supper on the table that she had told her little girl to set the plates on I seed thar was just places fixed for the family. You see, she thought I'd wait till that triflin' gang was through an' set down to scraps. Thar was one other thing Carrie Williams expected to happen, but it didn't take place.”

“She expected you to put poison in the food?” Paul jested.

“She expected me to wait on 'em—to fetch the grub from the stove to the table an' stick it under their noses, but I didn't. I took my seat on the kitchen door-step. I heard 'er callin', but I was deef as a post. One of the gals come an' told me her ma said they wanted a hot pone o' bread, an' I told 'er it was in the stove, an' if she didn't hurry it would burn—that I smelt it already. When supper was over Carrie come an' told me they was finished. She said she was sorry all the preserves was ate up, but that the children was greedy an' hard to control when sweet things was in sight. I told her I didn't feel like eatin'—that I never did when I worked over my own cookin', an' I didn't touch a bite. I set in to washin' the dishes an' she hung about, still talkin'. Her main theme was the old times an' how many of our crowd of girls had been unable to keep pace an' float with her, an' the few that was left on top. Then she mentioned you.”

“Me! I thought I'd get my share,” Paul smiled.

“Oh, she didn't have nothin' but praise for you,” Amanda returned. “In fact, she thought that would rankle. She had the idea that you was plumb through with us, an' said it must make us ashamed to be so close to you an' the fine folks at Hoag's. I was tempted to hit 'er betwixt the eyes one good lick to make 'er see straight, but I helt in. I got even, though—oh, I got even!”

“You say you did! Tell me about it,” Paul cried, highly amused.

“We was all settin' in the yard,” Amanda continued, “an' was jest fixin' to go to bed, when Jeff come, all out o' breath, an' told us the news about what you'd done, an' that I was wanted back home to help move. I ain't sure the Lord will ever forgive me, Paul, but I never felt so good in all my life as I did at the sight o' that woman. She was as limp as a wet rag, an' fairly keeled over. She actually tried to stop Jeff from talkin', but I pinned 'im down an' made 'im tell it over an' over. If I axed 'im one question about the new cottage an' new furniture I did a hundred. I went furder'n that. I looked at the house they live in—it's jest a four-room shack, you know, made of up-an'-down boards unpainted an' unsealed—an' axed 'er if it wasn't awful cold in winter, an' if the roof didn't sag too much for safety, an' whar she put the beds when it leaked. The purty part of it was that Tobe (I wish I could 'a' spared him, for he's nice an' plain as an old shoe) kept agreein' with me, an' braggin' on our new house, an' sayin' that he was too hard up to better 'imself. Carrie got so mad she plumb lost her grip, an' told 'im to dry up, an' then she flounced into the house an' wouldn't come out to say good-by. Paul, you may preach your human-love idea till you are black in the face, but if it works on a woman like Carrie Williams it will be when she's tied hand an' foot an' soaked with chloroform. I try not to let this nice place an' my pride in you spoil me. I don't think anybody could consider me stuck-up, but if Carrie Williams calls—which she is sure to do—I'll show 'er every single item about the place, an' remind 'er how much she praised it before we got it.”