“‘Oh,’ said I, ’you’ve got the wrong sow by the ear; a wagon went whizzin’ by here a minute ago like it was shot out of a gun.’

“‘Which way?’ the officer asked, rippin’ out an oath that ’u’d a-took the prize at a cussin’-bee.

“I pointed down the road and said:  ‘I hear it a-clatterin’ now,’ and off they galloped.  Well, Toot soon loaded the whiskey again and drove off up the mountain, but he’s laughed about that a hundred times and told the moonshiners about it.  Whenever I meet one in the road—­I know the last one of ’em—­they ask me if I’ve seen a whiskey wagon anywheres about.  Harriet,” she added, more soberly, “you’ve give me a sight of comfort.  Now tell me about you-know-who.  Toot told me the last time he was at our house that he knowed you were gone on that new feller.  I’m sorry they fit, but he had no business refusin’ to credit Toot.  Nobody else ever did the like, and it was calculated to rile him, especially when he was full an’ loaded for bear, as folks say.  How are you and him makin’ out, Harriet?”

Harriet’s face had taken on a sober look, and she hesitated before replying; finally she said: 

“There is nothing between us, Hettie, and I’d rather not talk about him.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry!” the other exclaimed.  “He is such a good-looking man, and so many thought you and him would come to a understanding.  They say a girl gets a mighty good whack at a man when he is laid up flat of his back.  I never have tried it, but it looks reasonable.”

Then Hettie rose.  “I’m goin’ to stay to dinner with you all,” she said, “and I’m going out now to help yore ma.  Pore woman, she looked dead tired jest now!”

A few minutes later Mrs. Floyd came to Harriet, who was still seated in the parlor, an expression of deep thought on her face.

“Harriet,” said the old lady, wiping her damp hands on her apron, “Hettie has gone to work washing dishes in there like a house a-fire.  I declare she’s a big help; as soon as she comes about I feel rested, for I know she won’t leave a thing undone.  What have you been saying to her?  I never saw her so cheerful.  She’s been runnin’ on in the kitchen like a fifteen-year-old child.  I declare I can’t keep from liking her.  You must a-told her some’n about Toot Wambush.”

“I did,” admitted Harriet.  “Mother, I’ve been standing in her way.  I believe he likes her, and will marry her now that I have given him his last answer.”

“Do you really, daughter?”

“Yes, I think he will—­I’m almost sure of it, and I just had to tell her so, she looked so down-hearted.”

Mrs. Floyd laid her hand on Harriet’s head and smiled.

“You deserve to be happy, too, daughter, and somehow I feel like you are going to be.  Mr. Westerfelt is nobody’s fool; he knows you’re sweet and good, and—­”

“I don’t want to talk about him, mother,” Harriet said, firmly, as she rose.  “I think we ought to keep Hettie a few days; she’d like to be near the post-office, I know.”