"Yassir, en now dey's done hit. My po' ole man. I wish I'd a been better ter 'im.

now!"

Lawd Jesus, help me

Eve knelt by the bed and laid her face against Nelse's while the tears rained down her black face.

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'Aunt Eve, it may not be so bad," said the Preacher hopefully. "His pulse is getting stronger. He has an iron constitution. I believe he will pull through, if there are no internal injuries."

Praise God! ef he do git well, I tell yer now, Marse John, I fling er spell on dem niggers bout dis!”

"I am afraid you can do nothing with them. The courts are all in the hands of these scoundrels, and the Governor of the state is at the head of the Leagues."

"I doan want no cotes, Marse John, I'se cote ennuf. I kin cunjure dem niggers widout any cote."

The doctor pronounced his injuries dangerous but not necessarily fatal. Charlie and Dick watched with Eve that night until nearly midnight. Nelse opened his eyes, and saw the eager face of the boy, his eyes yet red from crying.

"I aint dead, honey!" he moaned.

"Oh! Nelse, I'm so glad!"

"Doan you believe I gwine die! I gwine ter git eben wid dem niggers 'fore I leab dis worl'."

Nelse spoke feebly, but there was a way about his saying it that boded no good to his enemies, and Eve was silent. As Nelse improved, Eve's wrath steadily

rose.

The next day she met in the street one of the negroes who had threatened Nelse.

"How's Mistah Gaston dis mawnin' M'am?" he asked. Without a word of warning she sprang on him like a tigress, bore him to the ground, grasped him by the throat and pounded his head against a stone. She would have

choked him to death, had not a man who was passing come to the rescue.

Lemme lone, man, I'se doin' de wuk er God!" "You're committing murder, woman."

When the negro got up he jumped the fence and tore. down through a corn field, as though pursued by a hundred devils, now and then glancing over his shoulder to see if Eve were after him.

The Preacher tried in vain to bring the perpetrators of this outrage on Nelse to justice. He identified six of them positively. They were arrested, and when put on trial immediately discharged by the judge who was himself a member of the League that had ordered Nelse whipped.

Tom Camp's daughter was now in her sixteenth year and as plump and winsome a lassie, her Scotch mother declared, as the Lord ever made. She was engaged to be married to Hose Norman, a gallant poor white from the high hill country at the foot of the mountains. Hose came to see her every Sunday riding a black mule, gaily trapped out in martingales with red rings, double girths to his saddle and a flaming red tassel tied on each side of the bridle. Tom was not altogether pleased with his future son-in-law. He was too wild, went to too many frolics, danced too much, drank too much whiskey and was too handy with a revolver.

"Annie, child, you'd better think twice before you step off with that young buck," Tom gravely warned his daughter as he stroked her fair hair one Sunday morning while she waited for Hose to escort her to church.

"I have thought a hundred times, Paw, but what's the use. I love him. He can just twist me 'round his little finger. I've got to have him."

"Tom Camp, you don't want to forget you were not a saint when I stood up with you one day," cried his wife with a twinkle in her eye.

"That's a fact, ole woman," grinned Tom.

"You never give me a day's trouble after I got hold of you. Sometimes the wildest colts make the safest horses."

"Yes, that's so. It's owing to who has the breaking of 'em," thoughtfully answered Tom.

"I like Hose. He's full of fun, but he'll settle down and make her a good husband."

The girl slipped close to her mother and squeezed her hand.

"Do you love him much, child?" asked her father. "Well enough to live and scrub and work for him and to die for him, I reckon."

"All right, that settles it, you're too many for me, you and Hose and your Maw. Get ready for it quick. We'll have the weddin' Wednesday night. This home is goin' to be sold Thursday for taxes and it will be our last night under our own roof. We'll make the best of it."

It was so fixed. On Wednesday night Hose came down from the foothills with three kindred spirits, and an old fiddler to make the music. He wanted to have a dance and plenty of liquor fresh from the mountain-dew district. But Tom put his foot down on it.

"No dancin' in my house, Hose, and no licker," said Tom with emphasis. "I'm a deacon in the Baptist church. I used to be young and as good lookin' as you, my boy, but I've done with them things. You're goin' to take my little gal now. I want you to quit your foolishness and be a man."

"I will, Tom, I will. She is the prettiest sweetest little thing in this world, and to tell you the truth I'm

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goin' to settle right down now to the hardest work I ever did in my life."

"That's the way to talk, my boy," said Tom putting his hand on Hose's shoulder. "You'll have enough to do these hard times to make a livin'."

They made a handsome picture, in that humble home, as they stood there before the Preacher. The young bride was trembling from head to foot with fright. Hose was trying to look grave and dignified and grinning in spite of himself whenever he looked into the face of his blushing mate. The mother was standing near, her face full of pride in her daughter's beauty and happiness, her heart all a quiver with the memories of her own wedding day seventeen years before. Tom was thinking of the morrow when he would be turned out of his home and his eyes filled with tears.

The Rev. John Durham had pronounced them man and wife and hurried away to see some people who were sick. The old fiddler was doing his best. Hose and his bride were shaking hands with their friends, and the boys were trying to tease the bridegroom with hoary old jokes.

Suddenly a black shadow fell across the doorway. The fiddle ceased, and every eye was turned to the door. The burly figure of a big negro trooper from a company stationed in the town stood before them. His face was in a broad grin, and his eyes bloodshot with whiskey. He brought his musket down on the floor with a bang.

"My frien's, I'se sorry ter disturb yer but I has orders ter search dis house."

"Show your orders," said Tom hobbling before him. "Well, deres one un 'em!" he said still grinning as he cocked his gun and presented it toward Tom. "En ef dat aint ennuf dey's fifteen mo' stanin' 'roun' dis house. It's no use ter make er fuss. Come on, boys!"