“Oh, praise de Lawd, Marse Frank; oh, praise de Lawd!” he cried.

Old Neb slept with an easier heart, that night, than had throbbed in his old black bosom since the probability that Barbara Holton would be a member of the party which was to visit his young master in the mountains, had first begun to worry him.  But long after he had found unconsciousness on the boughs-and-blanket bed which he had fashioned for himself under Frank’s direction, Layson, himself, was wandering beneath the stars, thinking of the problem that beset him.

He was sorry Barbara was coming to the mountains.  Why had his Aunt ’Lethe brought her?  What would that dear lady think about Madge Brierly, wood-nymph, rustic phenomenon?  What had Horace Holton been doing in the mountains, secretly, to have been surprised, discomfited as Neb had said he was, at sight of the Colonel, Miss ’Lethe and his daughter?

But before he had finished the pipe which he had carried into the crisp air of the sharp mountain night for company, his thought had left the Holtons and were seeking (as they almost always were, these days and nights), his little pupil of the spelling-book, his little burden of the brush-fire flight.  He looked across the mountain-side toward where her lonely cabin hid in its secluded fastness.  There was a late light to-night ashine from its small window.

“She’ll like her,” he murmured softly in the night.  “She’ll love her.  Aunt ’Lethe’ll understand!”

And then he wondered just exactly what it was that he felt so very certain his Aunt ’Lethe would be sure to understand.  He did not understand, himself, precisely what had happened to him, his life-plans, heart-longings.

Strolling there beneath the stars he gave no thought to poor Joe Lorey, until, like a night-shadow, the moonshiner stalked along the trail and passed him.  Layson called to him good-naturedly, but the mountaineer gave him no heed.  Frank stood, gazing after him in the soft darkness, in amazement.  Then a quick, suspicious thrill shot through him.  The man was bound up the steep trail toward Madge’s cabin.  Presently he heard him calling.  He went slowly up the trail, himself.

The girl came quickly from her cabin in answer to the shouting of the mountaineer.

“What is it, Joe?” she asked.

“I want a word with you.  I’ve come a purpose,” Lorey answered sullenly.

The girl was almost frightened by his manner.  She had never seen him in this mood; he had never come to her, alone, at night, before.  “Well, Joe, you’ll have to wait,” said she.  “I’ve got some things to do, to-night.”  Her sewing was not yet half finished.