“But she said—­”

“It don’t matter three quarters of a rotten rye-straw what she said, my inexper’enced friend.  She don’t keer what she says, so long as it’s fur enough away from the truth to sarve her turn.  An’ she’s told pay-tent double-back-action lies that worked both ways.  What do you ’low Jule Anderson tho’t when she hearn tell of your courtin’ Betsey, as Betsey told it, with all her nods an’ little crowin’?  Now looky here, Gus, I’m your friend, as the Irishman said to the bar that hugged him, an’ I want to say about all that air that Betsey told you, spit on the slate an’ wipe that all off.  They’s lie in her soap an.’ right smart chance of saft-soap in her lie, I ’low.”

These rough words of Jonas brought a strange intelligence into the mind of August.  He saw so many things in a moment that had lain under his eyes unnoticed.

“There is much rough wisdom in your speech, Jonas,” said Andrew.

“That’s a fact.  You and me used to go to school to old Benefield together when I was little and you was growed up.  You allers beat everybody all holler in books and spellin’-matches, Andy.  But I ’low I cut my eye-teeth ‘bout as airly as some of you that’s got more larnin’ under your skelp.  Now, I say to our young friend and feller-citizen, don’t go ‘way tell you’ve spoke a consolin’ word to a girl as’ll stick to you tell the hour and article of death, and then remains yours truly forever, amen.”

[Illustration:  JONAS.]

“How do you know that, Jonas?” said August, smiling in spite of himself.

“How do I know it?  Why, by the testimony of a uncorrupted and disinterested witness, gentlemen of the jury, if the honorable court pleases.  What did that Jule Anderson do, poor thing, but spend some time making a most onseasonable visit to Cynthy Ann last night?  And I ’low ef there’s a ole gal in this sublunary spear as tells the truth in a bee-line and no nonsense, it’s that there same, individooal, identical Cynthy Ann.  She’s most afeard to drink cold water or breathe fresh air fer fear she’ll commit a unpard’nable sin.  And that persecuted young pigeon that thought herself forsooken, jest skeeted into Cynthy Ann’s budwoir afore daybreak this mornin’ and told her all her sorrows, and how your letter and your goin’ with that Betsey Malcolm”—­here August winced—­“had well nigh druv her to run off with the straps and watch-seals to get rid of you and Betsey and her precious and mighty affectionate ma.”

“But she won’t look at me in meeting, and she sent Humphreys to me with an insulting message.”

“Which text divides itself into two parts, my brethren and feller-travelers to etarnity.  To treat the last head first, beloved, I admonish you not to believe a blackleg, unless it’s under sarcumstances when he’s got onusual and airresistible temptations to tell the truth.  I don’t advise yer to spit on the slate and rub it out in this case.  Break the slate and throw it away.