’at I was obleeged to ’dopt the name o’ ‘Williams’ onc’t to keep from bein’ strung up to a lamp-post, but sich is the facts.  I was so extremely unfortunit onc’t as to kill a p’ticular friend o’ mine, and he forgive me with his dyin’ breath, and told me to run while I could, and be a better man.  But he’d spotted me with a’ ugly mark ‘at made it kind o’ onhandy to git away, but I did at last; and jist as I was a-gittin’ reformed-like, you fellers had to kick in the traces, and I’ve made up my mind to hunt out a more moraler community, where they don’t make sich a fuss about trifles.  And havin’ nothin’ more to say, on’y to send Annie word ’at I’ll still be a father to her youngun here, I’ll bid you all good-bye.”  And with that he turned and clum in the boat—­or ruther fell in,—­far somepin’ black-like had riz up in it, with a’ awful lick—­my—­God!—­and, a minute later, boat and baggage was a-gratin’ on the shore, and a crowd come thrashin’ ’crost from tother side to jine us, and ’peared like wasn’t a second longer tel a feller was a-swingin’ by his neck to the limb of a scrub-oak, his feet clean off the ground, and his legs a-jerkin’ up and down like a limber-jack’s.

And Steve it was a-layin’ in the boat, and he’d rid a mild or more ‘thout knowin’ of it.  Bills had struck and stunt him as he clum in while the rumpus was a-goin’ on, and he’d on’y come to in time to hear Bills’s farewell address to us there at the ford.

Steve tuck charge o’ little Annie agin, and ef she’d a-be’n his own child he wouldn’t a-went on more over her than he did; and said nobody but her mother would git her out o’ his hands agin.  And he was as good as his word; and ef you could a-seed him a half hour after that, when he did give her to her mother—­all lapped up in his coat and as drippin’-wet as a little drownded angel—­it would a-made you wish’t you was him to see that little woman a caperin’ round him, and a-thankin’ him, and a-cryin’ and a-laughin’, and almost a-huggin’ him, she was so tickled,—­Well, I thought in my soul she’d die!  And Steve blushed like a girl to see her a-taking’ on, and a-thankin’ him, and a-cryin’, and a-kissin’ little Annie, and a-goin’ on.  And when she inquired ‘bout Bills, which she did all suddent like, with a burst o’ tears, we jist didn’t have the heart to tell her—­on’y we said he’d crossed the river and got away.  And he had!

And now comes a part o’ this thing ’at ’ll more ’n like tax you to believe it:  Williams and her wasn’t man and wife—­and you needn’t look su’prised, nuther, and I’ll tell you far why—­They was own brother and sister; and that brings me to her part of the story, which you’ll have to admit beats anything ’at you ever read about in books.

* * * * *