“Consequently,” pursued the squire, somewhat vindictively, “we ain’t had any time in which to form an opinion of the Blounts; but for myself, I’m suspicious of folks that keep movin’ about and who don’t seem able to get located permanent nowheres, who air here to-day and away tomorrow.  But you can’t say that of the Yancys.  They air an old family in the country, and naturally this co’t feels obliged to accept a Yancy’s word before the word of a stranger.  And in view of the fact that the defendant did not seek litigation, but was perfectly satisfied to let matters rest where they was, it is right and just that all costs should fall on the plaintiff.”

CHAPTER V

THE ENCOUNTER

Betty Malroy had ridden into the squire’s yard during the progress of the trial and when Yancy and Hannibal came from the house she beckoned the Scratch Hiller to her.  She was aware that Mr. Yancy, moving along the line of least industrial resistance, might be counted of little worth in any broad scheme of life.  Nat Ferris had strongly insisted on this point, as had Judith, who shared her husband’s convictions; consequently, the rumors of his present difficulty had merely excited them to adverse criticism.  They had been sure the best thing that could happen the boy would be his removal from Yancy’s guardianship, but this was not at all her conclusion.  She considered Mr. Bladen heartless and his course without justification, and she regarded Yancy’s affection for the boy as in itself constituting a benefit that quite outweighed his unprogressive example.

“You are not going to lose your nephew, are you, Mr. Yancy?” she asked eagerly, when Yancy stood at her side.

“No, ma’am.”  But his sense of elation was plainly tempered by the knowledge that for him the future held more than one knotty problem.

“I am very glad!  I know Hannibal will be much happier with you than with any one else,” and she smiled brightly at the boy, whose small sunburned face was upturned to hers.

“I think that-a-ways myself, Miss Betty, but this trial was only for my smacking Dave Blount, who was trying to steal my nevvy,” explained Yancy.

“I hope you smacked him well and hard!” said the girl, whose mood was warlike.

“I ain’t got no cause to complain, thank you,” returned Mr. Yancy pleasantly.

“I rode out to the Hill to say good-by to Hannibal and to you, but they said you were here and that the trial was today.”

Captain Murrell, with Crenshaw and the squire, came from the house, and Murrell’s swarthy face lit up at sight of the girl.  Yancy, sensible of the gulf that yawned between himself and what was known as “the quality,” would have yielded his place, but Betty detained him.

“Are you going away, ma’am?” he asked with concern.

“Yes—­to my home in west Tennessee,” and a cloud crossed her smooth brow.