There was a chorus of negatives, and Raphael’s dark eyes lighted over the prospect of thrilling the company. “It was about five years ago when the Bennett and MacGowan feud was stirring things up ’round here and everybody seemed bound to take sides. Miss Clark tried to keep out of it, for there were children from both families in school. One morning Hugh MacGowan came over to borrow a big needle to sew up his mule’s shoulder—some one had cut a long gash in it the night before. You just ought to have seen her eyes flash—I went to school to her then—and she everlastingly told us what she thought of a man or boy who would hurt an animal because he hated the owner. Of course the Bennett children went home and told it, and—”
“I thought they all liked her,” interrupted Gincy.
“They did, but the old folks didn’t relish being criticised even though no names were used. Miss Clark found a note pinned to her door the next morning telling her to mind her own business or she’d get into trouble.
“Things were quiet for a while, then one time about midnight, she heard some drunken men going by shouting and singing—then four or five shots. It was bright moonlight and Miss Clark could see that one was wounded and swaying on his mule; the rest galloped off. Izzie Gray was staying with her then, and begged her not to stir outside, but do you suppose she’d do anything of the kind? Not much. She sailed out and found Lem Bennett bleeding to death—his arm all shot up.”
Raphael stopped suddenly with dramatic effect. His audience was plainly excited and expectant. “Go on, Raf!” commanded Joe impatiently. “What next?”
“Well, Miss Clark rode that mule clear into Bentville and got a doctor, or the Bennett youngsters wouldn’t have a father to-day, I can tell you.”
“Did it stop the fighting?” asked Gincy, jumping up suddenly. She fished the key from under the long raincoat and fitted it into the lock.
“Yes, I really think it did. She told Lem Bennett—he was the worst of the crowd—that she saved his life so he could have a chance to be a better man, and that she loved his children and wanted them to have a better father. Then she had a long talk with the MacGowans. After that the county went dry—she had a hand in that, too—and there wasn’t any more trouble. Oh, Miss Clark is fine, I tell you!”
“I should think she was,” said Nancy Jane, her eyes open wide with admiration. “Come on, let’s go in and see how she lives.”
Gincy was already inside. The rest followed. There was a large bookcase filled with books and magazines, a piano, a big fireplace with a comfortable seat and chair near it.