ing to the wooden stool. “Besides, nobody don’t want nobody to stay.”
“Nobody never said they didn’t.”
“Nobody never said they did. I reckon I better start on now to brother Ed’s.”
“Nobody can’t wind that old clock.”
“Want me to go back along ’ith you in the cart and wind it fur you, Ranse?”
The mountaineer’s countenance was proof against emotion. But he reached out a big hand and enclosed Ariela’s thin brown one. Her soul peeped out once through her impassive face, hallowing it.
“Them hounds shan’t pester you no more,” said Ransie. “I reckon I been mean and low down. You wind that clock, Ariela.”
“My heart hit’s in that cabin, Ranse,” she whispered, “along ’ith you. I ain’t a-goin’ to git mad no more. Le’s be startin’, Ranse, so’s we kin git home by sundown.”
Justice-of-the-peace Benaja Widdup interposed as they started for the door, forgetting his presence.
“In the name of the State of Tennessee,” he said, “I forbid you-all to be a-defyin’ of its laws and statutes. This co’t is mo’ than willin’ and full of joy to see the clouds of discord and misunderstandin’ rollin’ away from two lovin’ hearts, but it air the duty of the co’t to p’eserve the morals and integrity of the State. The co’t reminds you that you air no longer man and wife, but air divo’ced by regular decree, and as such air not entitled
