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"Peck Bradley!" snapped the girl in sudden scorn. "Do you think I'd look at that murderer! After him killin' ole man Shelton over a pig! A stray pig!" Mary Lou flashed with temper, and it quite astonished Abner that anger could improve a girl's looks.

"Well, that other one, whatever his name is—is jest as bad, he drinks."

"Didn't you drink when you was a-courtin' Mammy?" flared the daughter, "an' would she ever got married to you a'tall if you hadn't been drunk— Oh, that's what made a prohibitionist out o' you!" she pointed the finger scornfully at her father.

Came a pause. Even the leathery old face of the Squire grew duskier.

"You've been listenin' to that cat of a aunt of yours! You kain't believe a word she says, never could! Besides, Mary Lou, it was diff'runt in them days! Whisky was legal then. We had a legal right to drink what an' when we pleased! An' what did the apostle Paul say?—Take a little wine fer your stomick's sake—"

"Well, don't he still say it?"

"I—I don't know."

"Well, did he say git married on it back in them days?" cried the girl satirically.

"My Lord, Mary Lou!" cried the old justice of the peace bitterly, "that happened afore you wuz ever born!"

"I should hope it did!" flamed the girl.

Squire Meredith flung up his weathered hands. "Lord, Abner, what kin I say to sich a gal! You're modern, Mary Lou! You've got a lot of this all-fired modern information in yore head and it's goin' to drag you down to a devil's hell, that's what it's goin' to do. You better pray to God instid of traipsing off to these new-fangled wicked dances!"

"Didn't you go to 'em?" cried Mary Lou in exasperation.

"I'm a man, Mary Lou!"

"Who'd you dance with—other men?"