But Sim clasped her hand in his, his black eyes, every feature of his handsome, strong young face betraying his joy and triumph.
"You are too late, sir; she is my wife."
"We were married in Roswell this morning. Forgive us, grandpa," said Pamela.
When he realized that he had been the one cheated, outwitted, his anger knew no bounds. He refused to listen to explanation or excuse, but turned everybody out of the house, gave the wedding supper to the negroes, and shut himself into his own room. But he had been fairly beaten at his own game, and in time he came to appreciate it, and to look with pride on Sim Black's career, while he and Josiah Williamson ended their years in brotherly love and peace.
HOW THE QUARREL ENDED.
When old Killus Hurd dismounted from his horse before the Hardings' front gate one spring day, it was not to make a neighborly visit. The flash of his eyes, the set of his mouth, boded no good and mild temper. He was a strong, vigorous-looking man for his years, and larger than the average mountaineer. He walked erect, his brown jeans and homespun clothing fitting loosely, his gray hair falling from under a well-worn broad-brimmed hat to his shoulders.
The Hardings lived on a settlement road at the foot of Bush Mountain, in a weather-beaten old log-house, shaded by a fine chestnut-oak, and a towering spruce pine. The widow Harding sat out on the low piazza shelling seed corn into a small splint basket, and she stared at the approaching visitor with surprise and displeasure. She was a middle-aged woman, but looked older, with dust-colored hair, sallow, sunken features, and faded blue eyes. Mrs. Long, a neighbor who had dropped in to borrow some dye-stuff and to beg a few garden seed, sat near her, rubbing snuff, and retailing the latest gossip circulating through the settlement. At the sight of Mr. Hurd she paused in astonishment.
"Lizy Ann Harding, thar comes Killus Hurd, ez I live!"
"I'm a-seein' him," said Mrs. Harding, her fingers trembling over the yellow corn.
"Good-mornin', Mis' Harding; hope you air well as you wanter be, Mis' Long," he said, walking up to the piazza step.