threw the reins to a Negro servant and came up to where she
stood.

"Oh, I've just had some words with that darned Blake," returned
Fletcher, chewing the end of his mustache, as he did when he was
in a rage. "I met him as I drove up the road and he had the
impudence to keep his ox-cart standing plumb still while I tore
through the briers. It's the third time this thing has happened,
and I'll be even with him for it yet."

"I'm sure he must be a very rude person," remarked Miss Saidie,
pinching off a withered blossom and putting it in her pocket to
keep from throwing it on the trim grass. "For my part, I've never
been able to see what satisfaction people git out of being
ill-mannered. It takes twice as long as it does to be polite, and
it's not nearly so good for the digestion afterward."

Fletcher listened to her with a scowl. "Well, if you ever get
anything but curses from Christopher Blake, I'd like to hear of
it," he said, with a coarse laugh.

Why, he was really quite civil to me the other day when I passed
him," replied Miss Saidie, facing Fletcher with her hand resting
on the belt of her apron. "I was in the phaeton, and he got down
off his wagon and picked up my whip. I declare, it almost took my
breath away, but when I thanked him he raised his hat and spoke
very pleasantly."

"Oh, you and your everlasting excuses!" sneered Fletcher, going
up the steps and turning on the porch to look down upon her. "I