ef hit be set too fer round. They is a heap in hit, too, more’n they is in mine, I reckon.”

“He’s gettin’ too big to set that-a-way on your knee, Frale. Ye make a baby of him,” said the mother. The child made an effort to slip down, but Frale’s arm closed more tightly about him, and he nestled back contentedly.

So the evening passed, and Thryng retired early to the bed in the loom shed. He knew something serious was amiss, but of what nature he could not conjecture, unless it were that Frale had been making illicit whiskey. Whatever it was, he chose to manifest no curiosity.

In the morning he saw nothing of the young man, and as a warm rain was steadily falling, he was glad to get the use of the horse, and rode