The glare of summer was softened into the glow of autumn. In the field the dry corn-blades, gently stirring, hoarsely whispered; and the grasshopper, stiffened by the chilling dew, sat on the pumpkin where the sunlight fell. The mornings were rosy, the noontide shone with a deeper red, but the evenings came, serenely stealing, it seemed, out of the heavily-wooded land, spreading over the fields and creeping along the hill-sides where the bell-cow rang her melancholy curfew.

John was a devoted student, and Potter, almost as much interested, was never too tired to assist him. "Don't sit up too late, John," the giant would sometimes say. "To-morrow night, remember, will soon be here."

Alf, delighted to know that his violin did not disturb the cause of education, mainly spent his evenings with that instrument. One night, with sudden enthusiasm, he exclaimed:

"Look yere, Mr. Potter, I wants er little o' dat edycation merse'f. Gimme holt o' dat book er minit. Now show me er J."

"There is one," Potter replied, pointing out the letter.

"Is you sho dat's er J?"

"Yes," said Potter, smiling at John.

"No chance whuteber fur er mistake in dis yere matter?"

"None at all."

"Uh, huh. So dis yere is de J dat I'se hearn so much erbout. An' yere's er nuder one. I tell you dis yere book couldn' git er long widout de J. Whut's dis yere one?"

"That is an S," Potter replied.

"Is you sho it is er S?"

"Yes."

"Wall, wall; so yere's de S dat's been er dodgen me fur sich er long time; but I got him now."

"Here is an L," said Potter.

"I doan kere nothin' 'bout dat," Alf said, closing the book. "I wouldn' git outen de way ef I wuz ter meet er L in de road. De J an' de S wuz whut I was airter."

"Do you not want to know the other letters?"

"No, sah; I dun got ernuff. Airter wile, ef de J an S wars out, I mout call fur some more, but I'se fixed ez long ez da lasts. Jule, wouldn' you like ter know er bout de J?"

"I knows 'em all," the girl replied.

"Take ere; take ere. I neber did see so much edycation; man kaint step round yere widout trampin' on it."

"These cool days, when we have no important work to perform," said Potter, "can be well spent."

"Mine shall be," John responded. "How long will it be, you reckon, before I ken stop this sort uv splashin' with these books, an' jump right in an' swim."

"Not a great while. You must lay the worm rail, you know, before you can build the fence. In truth, you learn more rapidly than anyone else I ever knew; and sometimes, while watching your progress, I can not help but look back with pity upon the snail-like movements of my early efforts."

"Oh, dar ain't no question 'bout dat boy l'arnin'," Alf exclaimed. "Er boy dat l'arned ter break er colt ez easy ez he did one time, ain't gwine ter hab much trouble wid dis S an' J bizness. Whut, er boy dat ken slip down outen er tree widout er quick-eyed pant'er seein' him, ain't got sly mubement ernuff ter ketch deze yere books er nappin'? Doan know dat chile yit; doan know him."

One afternoon while Potter and John were at their books, and while Alf was playing on his fiddle a sort of accompaniment to a doleful tune hummed by his daughter, there came a tapping on the facing of the open door.

"Come in," Potter called.

A woman and a girl stepped into the room. John and Potter sprang up with the quick impulse of courtesy's sudden demand, and offered them seats. Alf put down his fiddle, and bowing, gave the visitors a grinning welcome.

"Where are your women folks?" the elder visitor inquired.

"We have none, madam," Potter replied, "except this girl, the daughter of this old——"

"Servant o' the Lawd," Alf interjected.

"This servant of the Lord," Potter smilingly repeated, "who assists us in tending our crop, and who is——"

"Erbout de bes' cook in dis yere neighborhood," Alf again broke in.

"My daughter Eva and I were passing," said the woman, "and having noticed for some time that this old house was again inhabited, decided to stop and investigate. We live about five miles from here, on the Sunset road. I am Mrs. Lucy Forest, widow of Henry Forest, who died several years ago. You have heard of him, of course."

"I am a comparative stranger in this neighborhood," Potter replied.

"I ricolleck seein' him," John remarked. "Uster have something to do with the Sunday-school at Mt. Pleasant. Alf knowed him, too, I reckon."

"Lawd bless me, yas," Alf exclaimed. "I dug de man's grave."

"I remember you now," Mrs. Forest rejoined, "and I remember you, too," addressing John. "Your name," turning to Potter, "is——"

"Excuse me for not introducing myself. My name is Potter."

"Well, I was going to say that your name was Bradshaw, and that I had seen you before."

"Excuse me a moment," said Potter, "I see your horse is loose. Let me go and hitch him for you."

"I'm younger than you, let me go," John insisted.

When John had gone, Mrs. Forest, looking after him, remarked: "That young man has a splendid face. Don't you think so, Eva?"

"Yes; strong and expressive of true refinement," the girl replied. Potter looked in admiration upon her. She was apparently but little more than fifteen years of age, but in form was well advanced toward graceful womanhood. Her eyes were large, dark, and beautiful. Her hair was as threads of fine and blackest silk, and in its graceful clustering, romance, it seemed, had found a lurking place. There was not a ruddy glow upon her cheeks, but with a creamy shading they tended toward paleness. An expression of quiet thought lay about the corners of her shapely mouth, but on her forehead, low and broad, fancy traced a brightening picture.

The girl's mother, noticing Potter's look, which had now almost deepened into a gaze, remarked: "I don't think my daughter is looking very well. For some time she has been at school over at Sunset, where there is an excellent teacher, but she studied so hard that I had to take her away."

"Mother, please don't make me out an invalid, for you know that I can walk long distances and climb steep hills without fatigue."

"Oh, I don't mean that you are an invalid, daughter; but you know yourself, Mr. Brad—Mr. Potter, that it is not well for one so young to be so devoted to books. It was her father's only trouble—I came near saying fault."

"It was his greatest pleasure," the girl suggested.

"Yes; but if it hadn't been for books he might have been a successful business man, and we might not have been compelled to leave our home in Tennessee, where I was so contented, and settle in this out-of-the-way place, and, of necessity, take up ignorance for our neighbors."

"His neighbors, the few books which he saved, are not ignorant," the girl replied. "He loved them, found them true, and left them friends to me."

"Yes, child, yes; I know all that; but it was a hardship on me, and since his death the cultivation of the farm has given me no end of trouble. Oh, I like books well enough, but unless we can write them they don't make us a living."

"But," said Potter, "they reduce a dreary and barren hour into a minute of ripe delight."

The girl clapped her hands. "I thank you for so bright a defense," she exclaimed.

"Oh, when you come ter talk erbout books," said Alf, "Mr. Potter he plum dar. Got er big luther-kivered book yere dat he read mighty nigh all de time."

"The Bible I hope," Mrs. Forest remarked.

"The Bible often, Mrs. Forest, but the book to which he refers is the Bible's wise, though sometimes sportive, child—Shakespeare."

John re-entered the room. "There's comin' up a shower," said he, "an' I took the horse to the stable."

"It is fortunate that we stopped, even though there are no women folks," Mrs. Forest replied.

Eva turned to John. "This room has somewhat the appearance of a school," she said.

"It is a school to me," John answered.

"You are anxious to learn, I suppose."

"Yes, so anxious that the time, it 'pears like, flies away befo' I l'arn anything."

"Time will seem kinder after awhile, for then you will be more able to employ it. When you want books that are full of interest, come over to our house."

Rain began to pour down. A frightened quail fluttered past the door. A baffled hawk screamed in anger. A rabbit ran into the yard and squatted under an old and tangled rose-bush. The rain ceased. The rabbit shook himself and ran away. The hawk screamed in anger.

"It is time we were going, daughter," said Mrs. Forest when a stream of sunlight came through the window. "Will you please get our horse?" she added, addressing John.

John bowed, rather awkwardly, perhaps, yet with not a bad show of courtesy, and hurried away to execute the commission.

"Mrs. Forest," said Potter, "we do not live so far apart but that we might be more neighborly in the future."

"Why, surely not," Mrs. Forest replied. "You will find everyone neighborly in this part of the country. Many of the people have nothing, you might say, except a neighborly disposition."

When the visitors were gone, and when John had again taken up his book, Potter remarked: "Excellent people, I warrant you. What do you think of that young lady, John?"

"I don't know, sir. She's so fur away frum me, it 'pears like that I can't think about her at all. Mr. Potter, do you think I'm learnin' how to talk any better than I did?"

"Yes, and very rapidly, too; but the book which you are of necessity studying now, can only serve you in a preliminary way—I mean that what you are studying now, will prepare you for grammar, and grammar will lead you into the excellencies of speech."

"Look yere," said Alf, "its erbout time I wuz er slicin' off our names, an' er puttin' 'em in de pot. I keep er tellin' you, dat edycation gittin' powerful thick round yere, but huh, when er man's hungry, he'd ruther yere suthin' er singin' in er skillet den ter fool wid er book, I doan' kere how many picters it got in it. I'll take deze yere squirl's dat we picked offen dem hickory trees dis mawnin', an' putty soon you'll yere er song in dat fryin' pan dat'll make you genermen drap dem books. I'se dun blowed my ho'n."

Early the next morning, before Potter and John had got out of bed, Alf came bustling into the room, bringing the appearance of great excitement. "Genermen," he exclaimed, "dis ain't no time ter lie yere!"

"What's the matter?" Potter demanded. "What has happened; can't you speak?"

"Cose I ken speak. Ef I couldn' speak, I couldn' tell you dat dis ain't no time ter lay yere. Whut's happened? B'ar tracks, sah; dat's whut's happened. I wus down in the fiel' jes' now ter see ef I could find any dem raskil coons t'arin' down de co'n, an' all at once I come ter er place so tangled wid stalks dat, fo' greshus, I dun thought er whirlwin' hit de co'n, but den it wuz all splained, fur dar wuz b'ar tracks mighty nigh ez big ez er ham. Huh, I dun thought somebody dun been goin' long dar er hittin' de groun' wid er maul. Let's git er bite ter eat ez soon ez we ken, an' foller de ole scounul."

Immediately after breakfast they set out to look for the bear. The tracks in the field proclaimed him to be of monstrous size. Pete, Alf's dog, well understood the importance of the pursuit. They followed the trail a long distance up the river, and then into a dense cane-brake.

"Mr. Potter, did you ever kill a bear?" John asked.

"No; the truth is I have never seen a wild one. You have killed a number of them, I suppose?"

"No, sir; but I shot one last winter, but he got away. My gun don't carry a ball large enough, I reckon, unless I mout hit him in the eye."

"Yere's de ole lady dat totes de ball," said Alf, affectionately tapping the barrel of his army gun. "Doan kere whar I hit one o' em, he gwine squeal, lemme tell you. Jes' look at ole Pete, how he prance. He uster be er mighty fine b'ar dog, but he ain't seed one in so long, dat I'se almos' afeerd dat he dun furgot how ter keep outen de way. B'ar git er holt o' er dog an' dat dog's gone, I tell you. Le's stop right yere, an' let him go on out in yander."

The dog ran forward, becoming more and more excited. The trail was evidently warm. The dog barked some distance away. "Hol' on," said the old negro. "Lissun er minut'." Another bark; followed by a distressing howl. Alf sprang forward. Potter and John followed as rapidly as they could through the tangled cane. After a tiresome struggle, they came to a small open space. There lay the dog, dead. The old negro dropped his gun, got down on his knees, and lifted the animal's bleeding head. It was some time before the old negro spoke. His companions, respecting a grief which they saw was deep and stirring, remained silent. At length old Alf said: "Po' ole frien'. Too ole an' stiff in de j'ints ter git outen de way. We's all gittin' dat way, ole frien'. We'se gittin' so ole an' stiff dat we kaint git outen de way o' trouble w'en we sees it comin' down de road. Genermen, I lubed dis yere po' dog. He didn' know nuthin' but ter lub me. He neber seed nuthin' wrong wid de ole man. No matter whut I done, it wuz all right ter him. But he gone now—I doan know whar—but he's gone. Lemme tell you, though (arising and taking up his gun), suthin' gwine suffer fur dis. Mr. Potter, you an' John go roun' dat way, an' I go dis. Ef you hear my gun, come ter me. Ef I hear yo'n, I'll come."

They separated. "I feel sorry for the old fellow," Potter remarked. "He's a man of very deep affections, with all his African peculiarities. Indeed, he has feelings finer than many a man would ascribe to one of his color."

"I know he is one of the best men I ever seed—saw," John replied. "I have hearn folks try to make out that the nigger ain't got as big a soul as the white man, but nobody's got any bigger soul than Alf has. There's his gun!"

Again they struggled through the cane, and again they came upon a small, open space. There they found Alf, sitting on a bear, smoking his pipe and fanning himself with his straw hat.

"You have him sure enough!" Potter exclaimed.

"Sah?" Alf replied, with pretended unconcern.

"I say you have killed the bear!"

"Whut b'ar?"

"Why, the one you are sitting on."

John was leaning against a tree, shaking with laughter. He understood the old man.

"Oh, dis yere b'ar."

"Yes; that bear."

"Oh, yas, sah; I got him. Tell you whut it is" (getting up, and putting on his hat), "it won't do fur er b'ar ter come killin' one o' my ole frien's. Dangerous, sah, dangerous. Wall, we'll go home now, get de hosses, an' drag dis generman ter de house."

"An enormous animal," said Potter.

"Cose he is. Oh, I ain't trampin' roun' de neighborhood er shootin' kittens, I tell you."