"That's jes whut I was aimin' to do. I'm a-goin' to town."
Well, I 'lowed I was goin' to mill to-day. The co'n is 'mos' gone."
"Well, y'u 'lowed wrong," he answered, imperturbably.
Y'u're mean, Jas Lewallen," she cried, hotly; " that's whut ye air, mean-dog-mean!
The young mountaineer looked up, whistled softly, and laughed. But when he brought his horse to the door an hour later there was a bag of corn across the saddle.
"As ye air so powerful sot on goin' to mill, whether or no, I'll leave this hyeh sack at the bend O' the road, 'n' ye kin git it thar. I'll bring the meal back ef ye puts it in the same place. I hates to see women-folks a-ridin' this horse. Hit spiles him."
The horse was a dapple-gray of unusual beauty, and as the girl reached out her hand to stroke his throat, he turned to nibble at her arm.
"I reckon he'd jes as lieve have me ride him as you, Jas," she said. " Me 'n' him have got to be great friends. Ye orter n't to be so stingy."