One evening old Alf, having put away the supper dishes, took down his fiddle and began to twang its strings, but failing to feel his wonted interest in the instrument, put it down and then sought diversion in the humming of an old "corn-shucking" song; but again meeting with failure, he got up, sadly shook his head, and began to walk up and down the room. Potter and John, who were reading, paid no attention. Suddenly he exclaimed:

"Uh, huh, now I got it, got it sho."

"What have you got?" Potter asked.

"W'y, sah, got de reason dat I'se troubled in my mine dis ebenin'."

"Are you troubled?"

"Is I troubled? Now, dat's er fine question ter ax er man dat has been carryin' on like I has. Ain't my fiddle 'fused ter talk ter me, an' ain't er old song dun failed ter fetch de co'n-bread crumbs o' comfort? Tibby sho. Now, whut's de matter? Suthin' dat I needs. Whut is dat suthin'? W'y, I needs ter go er possum huntin', sah, dat's whut I needs. I dreamed last night dat I seed er piece o' fat meat an' er sweet pertater er raslin'. I knowed it meant suthin', but I didn' know whut till jes' now. It means dat we got ter go er possum huntin' dis yere very night, sah. How do it hit you?"

"I'm willing. What do you say, John?"

"Suits me exactly," John replied.

"Then, let us get ready and go at once," said Potter. "There is no retrospective hand that reaches so kindly out of the past and touches me with a thrill of so endearing a memory as the hand that comes out from under the hazy curtain of an Indian-summer night and gently draws me back into a hallowed past, when, with eager footsteps, I followed the negroes on my father's farm to the place where the dogs had treed."

"Yas, I reckon so," Alf replied; "I do reckon dat; yas, sah, I do. I doan know nuthin' 'bout no arm comin' out, but I knows dat de ricollection o' some frosty nights in ole North Kliny makes me wush dat I wuz dar, er boy ergin. But let us go on ef we gwine, caze it's been some time sense de oven has shined wid de sweet grease o' de possum. Deze new dogs we got, I doan know so much erbout 'em. Wush Ole Pete—neber mine, dat's all right. Lawd, yo' ole servant 'bout ter grumble ergin."

They went out into the beautiful night. Nature was so hushed that the rythmic flow of the river could be heard. The stars seemed to shine through a gauzy sheen. In the air there was a faltering promise of the coming of winter. On a log, where the moonbeams fell, there lay a substance of greenish white. It was a dead tree-toad.

"Let's cross dis fiel'," said Alf, "an' skirt 'long de edge o' de woods whar de 'simmon trees grows. Whoop—ee! [calling to the dogs]. Git 'em down, ole boys. Whoop—ee, git 'em down!"

The old negro was joyous. He hummed old tunes. "I doan know whut make dem varmints so skace ter-night," said he.

"Knowing that you were coming after them, they have doubtless all left the country," John replied.

"I reckon you's hit it, sah; I reckon you has, caze when I starts out, suthin' mighty nigh sho ter happen. Whoop—shove 'em ole boys! Whoop, push 'em!"

"Hold on a minute," said Potter, stopping. "What is the cause of that bright light over yonder?"

"Bresh heep er burnin' whar somebody cl'arin' up new groun', I reckon," Alf replied.

"Not that," John remarked. "A brush heap would hardly send its light so high."

"Dat's er fack," the old man admitted.

"That is someone's house on fire," said Potter. "Who lives over that way?"

"Miz Forest's house is ober dat way ef I ain't turned 'roun'."

"It is her house!" John exclaimed, bounding forward. "Come on!"

They ran with the speed of utmost exertion. John gained on his companions. He jumped over a rail fence without touching it. "Come on," he cried. They could now plainly see the house. The roof was in flames. No one could be seen near the burning building. "Is it possible that they are burning up?" John thought.

He reached the yard fence, cleared it at a bound, ran across the yard, sprang upon the gallery, and threw himself with all his weight against the door. It did not yield. "Eva," he cried, beating on the door. "Eva!" No answer came. He leaped from the gallery, seized the door-step, a ponderous log, staggered upon the gallery and threw the log against the door. An oak latch snapped and the door flew open. He did not rush into the room. His sense of modesty, even at such a time, forbade it, but with a loud voice he exclaimed: "For God's sake come out; your house is on fire." The next moment Mrs. Forest and Eva, almost frantic with excitement, but wrapped in the clothes which they had gathered from the bed, rushed from the room. By this time Potter and Alf had arrived. They dashed into the house to save what furniture they could. "Don't be excited," said Potter. "Fire is dropping down, but it will take quite a while for those oak rafters to burn in two. Carry out the trunks; we can save all the clothes. Here, Alf, you are too much excited. Where is John?"

John had thought of Eva's books, and although that end of the house was almost entirely wrapped in flames, was exerting himself in the dangerous work of saving the cherished volumes, and before the roof fell in, he had carried out the last book. A number of the neighbors soon arrived, for the cry of "Fire!" "Fire!" had echoed through the woods. Mrs. Forest and Eva, having dressed themselves in the barn, stood looking at the destruction of their home.

"I don't know how it could have happened," said Mrs. Forest. "It must have caught from the upper part of the chimney. I don't know how to thank you all. The fact that this is the first time I have ever been placed under such serious obligations, makes me awkward in acknowledging them. Eva, can't you say something?"

The girl stood trembling. John stood near her. "No," she replied, "I—I—don't know——" She burst into tears.

"Come, daughter, we are going home with Mrs. Patterson and stay until we can have another house built."

The next day John went over to Patterson's. Mrs. Forest and Eva, with that strong recuperative force found among people who live in the woods, had recovered from the effect of the excitement of the previous night.

"Let us walk over and look at the ruins," said John, addressing Eva.

"There is but little to look at," she replied, "but we will go."

They spoke but few words as they crossed the fields, but each one felt that the other was not unhappy. The leaves on the running brier were red, and the velvety top of the sassafras sprout was cool to the touch.

There was nothing left of the old house but a few smoldering chunks. John and Eva sat down on a log that had served as a horse-block.

"It would have been a great disappointment to me, Eva, if your books had not been saved."

"Yes," she replied, "but they were not worth so great a risk."

"Oh, the risk was nothing. All that was required was a little activity."

They were silent for some time, and then John remarked:

"How strange everything has been. I used to fear that there never would be a time when I could talk to you without embarrassment. This fear did not come from any word or action of yours, but from a true estimate of myself."

"How a true estimate?"

"Why, an almost overpowering knowledge of my own ignorance."

She gave him an imploring look. He continued:

"You have ever been kind to me. You have helped me, inspired me. I know nothing of the world, but I know gratitude. When I am reading a book, and hold so much within my grasp, the world seems very small; but when I look away at the clouds floating far beyond the hills, I then feel that the world is very large. But, Eva, may it be large or small, there is to me but one source of true happiness. You are that source, my angel. I love you—love you. When I am near you nature is more beautiful. There is religion in the soft light of your eyes. There is the thrill of deep poetry in every sound of your voice. I do not come to you with pleading, for I feel that you love me—not because I have done you a service, but because our souls, waving in a perfumed atmosphere, touch each other."

"John."

"Yes, angel."

"You are the only human being who has ever understood me; you are the only human being whom I have ever understood. Yes, I do love you—loved you when I saw you with a child's primer in your hand—loved you when I saw you a grasping student of rhetoric. That we should love each other, seems to me as natural as that the sun should shine. It could be the only result of our association."

He put his arm about her and drew her closer to him. "Eva, as you say, love could be the only result of our association; and now do you not know that there can be but one true result of our love?"

"Yes," she replied, "only one."

The neighbors soon decided to build Mrs. Forest another house. The building of a log house in the country is looked upon as a sort of holiday frolic, and there is no man in the immediate neighborhood too busy with his own affairs to lend a helping hand. The new house was built upon the same site, and after the same pattern as the old one.

Eva had, one day, just finished arranging her books, when Bob Juckels stepped upon the gallery.

"Hi," said he, as he reached into an adjoining room, drew out a chair and sat down.

"Mr. Juckels, I want you to go away from here," the girl replied.

She stood in the library door. He looked up at her, with an attempt at a smile, but with the result of an ugly grin.

"Pretty good house you got here. Woulder come over ter the raisin', but I didn't wanter meet Lucas, fur when I meet him, we're goin' ter mix. I'm me, let me tell you that." He took out a bottle of whisky, shook it, held it up, squinted at it and then took a drink. The girl was afraid of him. Her mother had gone over to a neighbor's house.

"Putty good house you've got here. Made outen green logs an' it won't burn ez easy ez the old one did. Say, did you tell Lucas that I had axed you ter marry me?"

"No; I dislike you so much that I do not mention your name to anyone."

"Good idee. Wall, I've come ter ax you agin."

"And I tell you that I wouldn't marry you to save my life. I despise you."

"That don't make no diffunce ter me, fur airter we was married erwhile you would git over that. When I axed you befo' an' you 'lowed you wouldn't, I said you would hear from me."

"Yes."

He shook the bottle again, and took another drink. "An' you did hear frum me," he said, after a few moments' silence.

"I don't know that I have."

He laughed with a low and malicious chuckle, looked about him, looked up at the rafters, looked down at the floor, chuckled again, and said:

"Ever'thing new."

"I don't understand you," Eva replied.

"Reckon not. Wimin kain't grab er p'int ez quick ez men ken. I mean that I sot yo' house afire. Hol' on, now; hol' on. Go ter cuttin' up an' it won't be good fur you, an' mo'n that, ef you ever breathe er word uv whut I've said it'll be good-by ter you an' that feller Lucas, too. Green logs mout not burn, but thar's suthin' else that will. Powder'll burn, er—haw, haw! Yes, it'll burn like er flash."

"Oh, you wretch!"

"Yas; that's whut the grasshopper 'lowed, but the wild turkey picked him up all the same. Wall, I must be shovin' erlong; sorter knockin' 'round fur my health. I'll come over agin ter-morrer an' see whut you've got ter say. But, my lady, ef you say er word ter yo' mother, ur anybody else, it'll be good-by ter the whole kit an' bilin' uv you."

A few hours later, while Potter, John, and Alf were strolling along the river bank, they came upon Juckels. He stood with one hand resting upon a rock that protruded from a rugged cliff. An empty whisky bottle lay on the ground. As the men approached, Juckels looked up with a frown, and, with thick utterance, said:

"I want you fellers ter go on erway frum here now. Never mind, Lucas, I am goin' ter settle with you."

"Any time will suit me," John replied.

"My time will suit me," Juckels rejoined. "It don't make no diffunce whuther it suits you or not. But I want you fellers ter go on erway frum here now, fur I got here fust an' this is mine."

"Whut is yo'n?" Alf asked.

"This possum."

"Whar's any possum?"

"Under this here rock; that's whar."

"What's er possum doin' under dat rock when dar's plenty trees fur him ter climb!" Alf asked.

"That's none uv yo' lookout," said Juckels. "He's under this rock, an' I'm goin' ter crawl up under thar arter him."

Alf looked at the ground, examined a number of tracks, and then remarked: "Co'se you ken do what you please 'bout dis yere matter, but ef you wuz er frien' o' mine I'd t'ar yo' coat mightily er holdin' ter you fo' I'd let you go up under dar."

"Yas, I reckon you would t'ar er feller's coat, an' take it erway frum him too, ef you could."

"Oh, go on up under de rock ef you wants to," Alf exclaimed; "but I tell you now dat ef you wuz er frien' o' mine I'd beg you might'ly not ter go under dar."

"You air er old thief, an' want me ter leave this possum so you ken git him."

"Come," said Potter, "there is no occasion for such language."

"This ain't none uv yo' er'fair, nuther," Juckels responded. "I'm goin' under thar, an' that's all thar is erbout it."

He threw his hat aside, kicked the whisky bottle into the river, got down on his hands and knees, and crawled under the rock. The men had turned to go away, when there issued from under the rock the most frightful noises—the yells of Juckels and the fierce shrieking of furious animals. Juckels rolled out from under the cliff. He was literally covered with wildcats. The men ran to his assistance. The animals ran back into their den. Juckels was unable to speak. He was bleeding from many wounds, and when he breathed, blood bubbled from a hole in his throat. Some time elapsed before a word was spoken.

"We must take him home," Potter said. "Cut down some saplings and we will make a stretcher."

They started on their burdensome and solemn march, and must have gone two miles, when Alf said:

"We mout ez well put him down now an' rest erwhile."

"No," replied Potter; "let us hurry on so that a physician may be summoned."

"Dar ain't no use'n er doctor," said Alf. "De man is dun dead."

So he was. They put down the stretcher. The sounds of hoofs attracted their attention.

"Yonder comes Mrs. Forest," said John.

"Yes," replied Potter, "and I will meet her and guide her away from this awful sight."

"You are the very man I want to see," cried Mrs. Forest when Potter approached within hailing distance. "I am on my way to your house to consult you," she added, reining up the horse when they met in the road. "I want to ask your advice about something. That good-for-nothing Bob Juckels has told Eva that he set fire to our house, and has declared that he will kill us all if we—I hardly know what all he didn't say, but I want to ask you if you think it best to have him arrested!"

"He is beyond the power of the law, Mrs. Forest. Yonder he lies dead."