“What news is that?” Alan asked, dubiously. “Young Miss,” a name given Adele by the negroes, and sometimes used jestingly by the family—“Young Miss has knocked the props clean from under Miller.” Alan frowned and hung his head for a moment; then he said:
“Uncle Ab, do you remember what I told you about Miller's opinion of love and women in general?”
The old man saw his drift and burst into a full, round laugh.
“I know you told me what he said about love an' women in general, but I don't know as you said what he thought about women in particular. This heer's a particular case. I tell you she's fixed 'im. Yore little sis has done the most complete job out o' tough material I ever inspected. He's a gone coon; he 'll never make another brag; he's tied hand an' foot.”
Alan looked straight into his uncle's eyes. A light was breaking on him. “Uncle Ab,” he said, “do you think he is—really in love with her?”
“Ef he ain't, an' don't ax yore pa an' ma fer 'er before a month's gone, I 'll deed you my farm. Now, look heer. A feller knows his own sister less'n he does anybody else; that's beca'se you never have thought of Adele follerin' in the trail of womankind. You'd hate fer a brother o' that town gal to be raisin' sand about you, wouldn't you? Well, you go right on an' let them two kill the'r own rats.”
Alan and his uncle were returning to the house when Pole Baker dismounted at the front gate and came into the yard.
Since becoming a landed proprietor his appearance had altered for the better most materially. He wore a neat, well-fitting suit of clothes and a new hat, but of the same broad dimensions as the old. Its brim was pinned up on the right side by a little brass ornament.
“I seed Mr. Miller drive past my house awhile ago with Miss Adele,” he said, “an' I come right over. I want to see all of you together.”
Just then Miller came out of the parlor and descended the steps to join them.