The horse stopped at the house and a voice, that stirred the blood in the young man's veins, called, "Howdy, Aunt Mollie." Mrs.Matthews appeared in the doorway; by her frank countenance and kindly look anyone would have known her at a glance as the boy's mother.

"Land sakes, if it ain't Sammy Lane! How are you, honey ?" "I am alright," answered the voice; "I've come over t' stop with you to-night; Dad's away again; Mandy Ford staid with me last night, but she had to go home this evenin'." The big fellow at the woodpile drove his axe deeper into the log.
"It's about time you was a comin' over," replied the woman in the doorway; "I was a tellin' the menfolks this mornin' that you hadn't been nigh the whole blessed week.

Mr.Matthews 'lowed maybe you was sick." The other returned with a gay laugh, "I was never sick a minute in my life that anybody ever heard tell.

I'm powerful hungry, though.
You'd better put in another pan of corn bread." She turned her pony's head toward the barn.
"Seems like you are always hungry," laughed the older woman, in return.

"Well just go on out to the barn, and the men will take your horse; then come right in and I'll mighty soon have something to fill you up." Operations at the woodpile suddenly ceased and Young Matt was first at the barn-yard gate.
Miss Sammy Lane was one of those rare young women whose appearance is not to be described.