Thou knows how gladly I'd've gi'n not on'y my pore, nigh-spent life, but also those o' my kinsmen, which I prize much higher, fur sech a vict'ry ez this over the inimies of Thee an' Thy people.

But Thou'st gi'n hit free ez Thy marcy, without axin' blood sacrifice from any on us.

I kin on'y praise Thee an' Thy goodness all my days." Fortner rose and listend with bowed head while she spoke.

When she finished he snatched up the ball of shriveling yarn and quenched its smoking with his hand.

Looking fixedly at this he said softly: "Aunt Debby, honey, I hain't tole ye all yit." "No, Jim ?" "No," said he, slowly winding up the yarn, "Arter the fouten wuz thru with at the Gap I slipt down the mounting, an' come in on the r'ar uv those fellers, an' me an' this ere man drapt two on 'em." "I kinder 'spected ye would do something uv thet sort." "Then we tuk a short cut an' overtuk 'em agin, an' we drapt another." Aunt Debby's eyes expressed surprise at this continued good fortune.
"An' then we tuk 'nuther short cut, an' saved 'nuther one." Aunt Debby waited for him to continue.
"At last--jess ez they come ter the Ford--I seed OUR man." "Seed Kunnel Bill Pennington ?" The great gray eyes were blazing now.
"Yes." Fortner's speech was the spiritless drawl of the mountains, and it had now become so languid that it seemed doubtful if after the enunciation of each word whether vitality enough remained to evolve a successor.