IT was a warm morning on the first day of June. Pole Baker lay on the thick grass, near the door of the court-house, talking to Jim Carden, a little shoemaker from Darley.

“Didn't Nelson Floyd go in the court-house jest now?” Pole asked.

“Yes,” said the shoemaker, in his high voice; “him an' Colonel Price was settin' here fer half an' hour 'fore you come, talkin' about a trade. Price is tryin' to sell 'im his plantation, an' that big house completely furnished. I'd rather see Floyd's eyes when he's on a trade than anything I ever looked at. They shine like twin stars. But I don't believe they'll trade. They are too far apart.”

“This section is chock full o' keen men, from the highest to the lowest,” remarked Pole. “Old settlers say that a long time ago seven Jews settled here, intendin' to git rich, an' that these mountain men got all they had, an' the Jews literally starved to death. Thar hain't been one in the county since.”

“Our folks certainly are hard to down,” said Carden. “Do you know that long, slim chap in front o' Floyd's store? That's one o' the Bowen boys, from Gilmer—I mean the feller at the covered wagon.”

“Know 'im? I reckon I do,” Pole laughed, “That's Alf Bowen. I had a round with 'im one day. It was in the fall o' the year, an' they was so busy at Mayhew & Floyd's that they pulled me into service. I'm a purty good salesman when I'm about half loaded. Well, Alf come in leadin' his little gal by the hand, an' said he wanted to fit 'er out in a cloak. Joe Peters hung to 'im fer half an' hour, but everything he'd show the feller was too high, or not good enough, an Joe switched 'im off on me. Joe was afeard ef the skunk went out that some more that was with 'im would follow, an' they was buyin' a little, now an' then. Well, do you know, Jim, I made up my mind I'd sell that feller a cloak ef I had to do it below cost an' make up the difference myself. Old Uncle Abner Daniel was thar settin' on a nail-keg, a-spittin' an' a-chawin' an' pokin' fun at me. As I was passin' 'im he cocked his eye up an' said, said he: 'Pole, I'll bet you a segar you cayn't sell 'im.' 'Done,' said I. 'I'll go you,' an' I set to work in earnest. Alf had sorter intimated that six dollars was his cloak-limit, an' I drawed Joe Peters round behind a stack o' boxes, an' axed 'im ef we had anything as low as that. Joe said no, we didn't, but, said he, 'sometimes when we git short, we run into Glenn's store next door an' take out an' article on trial, an' ef we sell it, we git it at cost.' Well, I happened to know that Glenn had some cloaks in, so I went back to my customer an' told 'im that we had jest got in a box o' cloaks the day before, but they was in the cellar unopened, an' ef he'd wait a minute, I'd bust the box an' see ef thar was any low-priced cloaks in the lot. Bowen's eyes sorter danced, an' he said he had plenty o' time. So I picked up a hammer an' run down in the cellar. I knocked at an empty box, an' kicked over a barrel or two, an' then scooted out at the back door an' round into Glenn's shebang. 'Sam,' said I, 'have you got a cloak that you kin let us have so we kin sell it at six dollars an' make any profit?' He studied a minute, an' then he said he 'lowed he had jest the thing, an' he went an' got one an' fetched it to me. 'This un,' said he, 'is all right except this little ripped place here under the arm, but any woman kin fix that in a minute. I kin let you have it, Pole, fer five-fifty.' Well, sir, I grabbed it an' darted back into our cellar, knocked once or twice more with the hammer, an' run up to Alf an' the gal. 'Here's one,' said I. 'It's an eight-dollar garment, but in drawin' it out o' the box jest now I ripped it a little, but any woman kin fix that in a minute. Now, bein' as it's you, Alf,' said I, 'an' we want yore trade, I'll make it to you at first cost without the freight from Baltimore. I kin give you this thing, Alf,' said I, fer six dollars.'

“Well, sir, I thought I had 'im, an' was winkin' at Uncle Ab, when Bowen sorter sniffed an' stuck his long finger through the hole. 'Shucks!' said he. 'Sam Glenn offered me that cloak fer four dollars an' a half two weeks ago. I could 'a' got it fer four, but I wouldn't have it. It's moth-et.'”

Carden threw himself back on the grass and laughed. “What the devil did you do?” he asked.

“Do?—nothin'. What could I do? I jest grinned an' acknowledged the corn. The joke was agin me. An' the funny part of it was the feller was so dead in earnest he didn't see anything to laugh at. Ef I'd a-been in his place I'd 'a' hollered.”

“Did you give Uncle Ab his cigar?” the shoemaker asked.

“I offered it to 'im, Jim, but he wouldn't take it. I axed 'im why. 'Beca'se,' said he, 'I was bettin' on a certainty.' 'How's that?' said I. 'Why,' said he, 'I seed Alf Bowen buy a cloak fer that gal at the fire sale over at Darley two weeks ago. He was just lookin' around to see ef he'd got bit.'”

Pole saw Floyd coming out of the court-house and went to him. “I understand you an' Price are on a deal,” he said.

“Yes, but we are far apart,” Floyd answered, pleasantly. “He offers me his entire two thousand acres and furnished house for twenty-five thousand. As I told him, Pole, I could draw the money out of other investments an' take the property, but I couldn't see profit in it above twenty thousand.”

“It's wuth all he asks fer it,” Pole said, wisely.

“I know it is, to any man who wants to live on it, but if I buy it, I'd have to hire a good man to manage it, and, altogether, I can't see my way to put more than twenty thousand in it. He's anxious to sell. He and his wife want to move to Atlanta, to be with their married daughter.”

They were walking towards Floyd's store, and Pole paused in the street. “Are you busy right now, Nelson?” he asked, his face wearing a serious look.

“Not at all, Pole.”

“Well, I've got some'n' to say to you, Nelson. I'm goin' to acknowledge that thar's one thing I've wanted to do fer you more, by hunkey, than anything in the world. Nelson, I've always hoped that I'd run across some clew that 'ud eventually lead to you findin' out who yore kin are.”

“That's good of you, Pole,” responded Floyd, in a sincere tone. “It is a thing I am more interested in than anything else in the world.” The young merchant laughed mechanically. “Pole, if the lowest-looking tramp you ever saw in your life were to come here, and I found out he was even a distant cousin of mine, I'd look on him with reverence. I'd fit him out in new clothes and give him money, and never want to lose sight of him. Why I feel that way I don't know, but it is planted deep down inside.”

“I knew you felt that away,” said Pole, “and, as I say, I want to help. Now, Nelson, all my life folks has said I was keen about tracin' things out. In my moonshinin' day, an' since then, in helpin' old Ab Daniel an' Alan Bishop in that timber deal, an' in one way an' another, I've always been good at readin' men an' the'r faces an' voices. Now, I reckon what Captain Duncan said that day about his talk with that feller Floyd—Henry A. Floyd—in Atlanta went in at one o' yore ears an' out at t'other, but it didn't with me. I've studied about that thing night an' day ever since, an' yesterday I had a talk with Duncan. I made 'im go over what him an' Floyd said, word fer word, an' I'm here to tell you that I want yore consent to see that old man myself. I've got to go down to the United States court to-morrow to see Judge Spence, about leniency in old Paxton's moonshine case, an' I'll have time on my hands. I wish you'd consent to let me talk, in a roundabout way, of course, to that man Floyd. Captain Duncan made a big mistake in sayin' so much about yore bad luck in yore childhood an' nothin' about what you've since made of yourself. A man as pore as Floyd is, an' as proud, wouldn't care to rake up kin with a man like Duncan showed you to be. The captain had an idea that ef he got the old chap's pity up he'd find out what he wanted to know, but a man of that stripe don't pity no unfortunate man nor want to claim kin with 'im. From the way Duncan talked to me, I have an idea that old man was keepin' back some'n'.”

Floyd was looking at his rough friend with eyes full of emotion. “I'd rather have you do a thing of that kind, Pole, than any man alive,” he said. “And I can trust your judgment and tact, too. I confess I am not hopeful in that particular direction, but if you want to see the man, why, do it. I certainly appreciate your interest, and next time I hope you will not wait to ask my consent. I trust the whole matter to you.”

“Well,” the mountaineer smiled, “I may be away off in my calculations, and make nothin' by it, but I want to try my hand. Thar comes Colonel Price. I'll bet a new hat he'll come to yore offer before long. You jest keep a stiff upper lip, an' don't bring up the subject of yore own accord; he'll do the talkin'.”