Ward leaped forward and snatched the paper from his grasp.

“It’s about time for me to see what you’re flourishing round here promiskous, like a bill o’ sale of these primises,” he snarled.

“You can read it, and read it out jest as loud as you want to,” said the man, coming forward and putting a grimy finger on a paragraph displayed prominently on the folded sheet of newspaper.

The Colonel took one look and choked.  An officious neighbor grabbed away the paper when Ward made a sign as though to tuck it into his pocket.

“I’ll read it,” said the neighbor.  “Mebbe my eyesight is better’n yourn.”  Then he read, in shrill tones: 

   “Notice to bachelors

“Unmarried maiden lady, smart and good-looking, desires good husband.  Has two-hundred-and-thirty-acre farm in good state of cultivation, well stocked, and will promise right party a home and much affection.  Apply on premises to Pharlina Pike, Smyrna.”

“I never—­I never—­dadrat the liar that ever wrote that!” screamed the spinster.

“You see for yourself,” said the man of the swollen nose, ignoring her disclaimer.  “We’re here on business, and expect to be treated like business men—­or expenses refunded to us.”

But the Colonel roared wordlessly, like some angry animal, seized a pitchfork that was leaning against the side of the spinster’s ell, and charged the group of suitors.  His mien was too furious.  They fled, and fled far and forever.

“There’s some one,” said Ward, returning into the yard and driving the fork-tines into the ground, “who has insulted Miss Pike.  I’d give a thousand dollars to know who done that writin’.”

Only bewildered stares met his furious gaze.

“I want you to understand,” he went on, “that no one can drive me to git married till I’m ready.  But I’m standin’ here now and tellin’ the nosy citizens of this place that I’m ready to be married, and so’s she who is goin’ to be my companion, and we’ll ’tend to our own business in spite of the gossips of Smyrna.  It’s for this day week!  I don’t want no more lyin’ gossip about it.  You’re gittin’ it straight this time.  It’s for this day week; no invitations, no cards, no flowers, no one’s durnation business.  There, take that home and chaw on it.  Pharline, let’s you and me go into the house.”

“I reckon there’s witnesses enough to make that bindin’,” muttered Cap’n Sproul under his breath.

He bent forward and tapped the Colonel on the arm as Ward was about to step upon the piazza.

“Who do ye suspect?” he whispered, hoarsely.

It was a perfectly lurid gaze that his brother-in-law turned on him.

What clutched Ward’s arm was a grip like a vise.  He glared into the Colonel’s eyes with light fully as lurid as that which met his gaze.  He spoke low, but his voice had the grating in it that is more ominous than vociferation.