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"Peck Bradley," proceeded the Squire, ruminating on the trial then in progress, "is jest as shore a broke man as he killed old man Shelton. The Bible says the way of the transgressor is hard, Abner," the old fellow clicked at his mules, shook his reins, and added in melancholy tone, "Ay, Lord—Buckingham Sharp fer his lawyer . . ."

Abner gave his eyes a final rake and sat staring at the passing landscape, which was growing yellow in the last rays of the sun. As the wagon rattled down some declivity, Abner could feel himself entering a cooler layer of air, and then as the mules climbed the ascent on the other side, the temperature rose again to summer warmth. This alternation of warmth and coolness, mingled with the wraithlike sweetness of wild cucumber, set up a poignant homesickness in the youth. It was through just such perfumed strata of warm and cool air that his foster-sister Beatrice Belle was driving home the cow from the pasture at this very moment.

The old Squire broke in upon his mood with unconscious kindness and shattered it by saying, "I seen you sparkin' Nessie Sutton in the court yard to-day."

Abner looked around in amazement. "Wha-at?"

"Sparkin' Nessie Sutton," repeated the Squire woodenly.

Abner jolted along for upward of half a minute, staring at his host. Finally he asked with the drawl of his kind, "Who is Nessie Sutton?"

"You nee'n' to deny it," nodded the old man solemnly. "I knowed you-all was sparkin' by the way you stood aroun' not able to say nuthin'."

"Why, I don't even know who Nessie Sutton is," cried Abner.

"Don't know the gal you was a-talkin' to in the courthouse yard 'long about dinner time!" exclaimed the Squire, astonished in his turn.

"Was her name Nessie Sutton?"

"I swan," cried the old fallow, "was you stan'in' there sparkin' a gal you didn't know!"

"Well, I wasn't exactly sparkin'."