a brave heart and tough sinews to rule it and keep it smooth and clean.

If Ut had wanted to run a still and make corn whisky to sell, his mother would not have minded, for easy money can be made so, and no better place could be found for such work than the deep shady cove on the side of that hill where the great trees and thick undergrowth hide the sky from the earth.

Or if Ut had done something wrong and wanted to hide from the law, she would have been glad for him to stay in the swamp below the hill, for it is a roadless jungle and the river's broad stream runs clear to the sea and could take him to safety without leaving a single telltale track behind.

But Ut wanted only a bit of land and a home, and a chance to make something of himself. He built his house out of pine poles with the cracks carefully daubed with mud; and the chimney was made out of sticks and clay, but it was solid and strong, a good enough house for anybody to live in.

Then he planted patches of peas and potatoes and vegetables, and got a cow, a flock of chickens, and put a shote into a pen to grow into a big hog by fall. He aimed to have plenty to eat, not only for himself and Harpa, but for Joe, his younger brother. Next to Harpa he loved Joe better than anybody in the world.

All these things kept him working early and late, Saturdays the same as other days, although everybody else in the whole country rested from Friday night until Monday morning.

Sometimes Harpa complained Harpa complained that Ut had forgotten all about

pleasure; but he always claimed that he got his joy out of owning his home. He went hunting and fishing now and then. The river was full of fish to be had for the taking, the woods full of game; Sounder had a sure nose and Ut was a good shot. His old double-barreled gun was so well trained it could shoot straight and kill almost without his ever aiming it.

Ut had a tender heart and he hated to kill the free wild things; but he had hard strength-taxing work to do, and the flesh of the forest creatures makes food that hardens a man's sinews and reddens his blood far better than corn-meal and buttsbacon can ever do.

Instead of taking a smart black wife from the Quarters, Ut had gone to the village, ten miles away, and married Harpa, a slender slim-footed girl, even lighter in color than himself. For in spite of his white blood, Ut was dark. He had his mother's crinkly hair and her stout stocky body, but instead of her wide flattened nostrils and thick lips he had his white father's straight mouth and narrow nose, and big soft eyes that were full of tawny light.

Harpa's skin was warm yellow and her eyes blue-green, her straight black hair was shiny and her purple lips were made for laughing. To Ut she was everything lovely and sweet. Little slim yellow Harpa. She did not like work, but Ut felt that her slender body was not meant for work. One morning she tried jerking a hoe through the tough grass roots, and in no time both her palms were blistered. Her hands were too small and tender to stand the rasping of a rough hoe-handle.

One hot summer evening Ut came in from the field, weary and drenched with sweat. He found Harpa sitting on the door-step laughing and talking with Joe, and watching the full moon rise. She had on a cool white dress and a bow of red ribbon tied her hair at one side. When she drew her clean skirts aside to keep Ut from touching them, Joe grunted and frowned. "You don' jump up an' wait on you' husban', Harpa?" he asked. "After he works hard all day, you sets still when he comes home at night? Gal, you ought to be shame. If you was my wife, I declare to Gawd, I'd lick you 'til you would'n eenjoy settin' down.'

Ut stopped short in his tracks. "You hush, Joe. You ever did run you' mouth too fast."

Joe got to his feet, talking faster than ever, protesting he had not meant to hurt Ut's feelings. That was the last thing he'd ever do in the world. Ut was the best old brother any man ever had, and the best husband any woman ever had, too. Harpa ought to be glad to wait on him and cook for him. If she would stick at the field work her hands would get tough and used to it.

Ut listened gravely, but his tone was sharp when he answered that what Harpa did was none of Joe's business. Harpa was not a cook or a field hand. She washed and ironed and sewed and patched, and that

was her full share of the work. Joe had better learn to keep his mouth out of other people's business.

Joe grinned good-naturedly. He had not meant to meddle. But he would tell the world that when he took him a wife she would never spend his good money buying red stockings and shiny shoes. Those shoes Harpa had on must have cost as much as a whole week's rations. Instead of being vexed at what Joe said discounting her ways, Harpa's white teeth flashed in a laugh so bright, so lovely, that Ut's steady heart fairly turned over. Blessed little Harpa. When she looked like that Ut felt he would work his fingers to the very bone to buy her red stockings and shiny shoes, or anything else she wanted.

Now she tilted her head sideways and with her soft husky voice full of teasing and bantering fun, she asked Joe:

"How 'bout red ribbons, Joe? Would you buy you' wife a piece o' red ribbon?"

Instead of answering Harpa's question Joe's bold eyes looked up at the big white moon while his fingers softly stroked the strings of his battered guitar.

Ut smiled. Harpa knew how to get the best of Joe. Precious little Harpa, so worthless and yet so merry. Always ready for a laugh or a dance or a song. New shoes never did hurt her feet. When his land was paid for she should have everything in the world she wanted. She should take a trip to town and buy cloth in the stores; and go on the train excursions to Charleston. If he got up a little earlier and worked a little harder and took less time at

Ut had helped to raise Joe from a baby; in fact Ut was still trying to raise him. Joe had plenty of sense; he was able, but he wasted his time drinking, gambling, frolicking, singing. Still when Joe had a drink or two his singing was so beautiful that it made Ut's heart open and shut like a book.

Ut often pleaded with Joe to settle down to some kind of steady work; but Joe laughed at the idea. Nobody would ever catch him getting up at dawn to plow a stumpy field. Ut knew nothing about pleasure, and he had never tried loafing or gambling or drinking, or looked at any woman but Harpa. Ut knew Joe pitied him for such ignorance, such stupid ambition and pride. Now Joe's lean black face shone with amusement. His sharp teeth grinned and his black eyes twinkled as he boasted that he was no proudful fellow, thank God. If he could be the richest man in the whole world he would never spend his good days sweating in a piece of new ground, tied to one lone woman. God made his legs too long to walk all day behind a slow-poking mule. They were made to dance and roam after liquor and good-looking women. His fingers itched when they were not picking a box (guitar) or shooting craps. When he got too old for pleasure then he might settle down; but as long as his body was full of good red blood he would never waste himself working. He had too much sense for that.

sides to everything. Men ought not to forget everything else but work. Once she heard a preacher read out of the Book at church how lilies. and grass and beasts never do a single lick of work, yet they have what they need. Joe had clothes and food and pleasure even if he had no land or house or wife.

21

The next morning, Friday, was Harpa's wash-day. After Ut had filled the wash-pots with water and built a fire under them and carried the clothes down the hill for Harpa, he walked around looking at his things-noting how the cotton and corn throve and were clean of grass, how the potato-vines met in their rows, how the peas were bearing. Now he had every right to be proudful. His work was bearing fruit and proving he had not out-reckoned his strength.

Harpa was up and washing by now, he would go tell her how well everything did.

Hurrying down the narrow path to the spring which ran cool and clear out from under the hill, he soon came to Harpa and the washpots and tubs; but instead of Harpa's bending over the washboard fighting the dirt in the clothes with her two hands, or beating it out with the stout oak paddle, she sat on the ground mournful and cheerless.

"Washin' don' agree wid me, Ut. My back is all but broke," she moaned forlornly.

"Po' li'l gal," he pitied, "it's dem big bed-sheets, dey is too heavy

right?" Joe asked suddenly.

To Ut's astonishment Harpa hesi

"I ain' sad," Harpa declared. "Ut's de one. Ut is sad 'cause he married me when he might'a married Mocky. She could'a worked in de field an' cooked an' washed an' ironed, an' had de chillen an' patched an' sewed an' had plenty o' time to go to prayer-meetin's too."

Ut said no more; he knew that tone of Harpa's; but Joe's plunkplunking grew louder, steadier, until a gay song began twanging clearly. Then Harpa's anger was gone, all of a sudden. She was little more than a child, after all; and Ut tried to have patience, long patience, with her babyish ways.

She had eaten very little these last hot days, and now she looked so slight, so slender in the moonlight; he felt almost afraid for her strength. Little slim sweet Harpa.

If he went now and set a trap in the river, he might catch some fish for breakfast. Harpa liked fish, and she ought to eat more than she did.

Neither Joe nor Harpa noticed when he got up off the step and went inside to mix up some corn-meal and cotton for fish-bait to put in the trap. When he came back and said, "I'm gwine down to de river, but I'll be back in a minute," Joe said, "All right, old socks." But Harpa answered not a word. She was still cross with him, but she would be over that by morning. She never held her mad long. Easy hurt, easy over it. Easy sad, easy glad, that was Harpa's way.

As Ut ran down the shadowy path with old Sounder following close at his heels, a cool night wind sprang up and high pines overhead began moaning. The frogs and crickets

cheeped lonesomely, but the night birds had little to say.

When a falling-star made a bright spark across the sky, Ut stopped to watch it, for that star made a path for somebody's soul. When he reached the sand-bar by the river an owl flopped out from a hollow tree and whoo-whooed a mournful death call. Ut was startled. Two death signs. Two people were going to die. The star and the owl both said so.

He watched the dark bird's shadow float over the swamp on the tops of the moonlit trees, but the wet sand sucked at his feet. It wanted to swallow him up, but he was not so easily caught. He quickly set the trap, then slowly and thoughtfully mounted the path toward home. Not a sound came from the cabin. Everything was silent except a harsh crackle of dry leaves fretted by the wind.

Joe and Harpa must have gotten tired waiting for him and gone to bed. He would go to sleep too and be up early to get the fish for breakfast, for Mocky was coming to finish the ironing, and if the trap had luck it would catch plenty of fish for her too.

22

Dawn barely hid the stars the next morning when Ut eased stealthily out into the yard. He must feed the things and milk the cow, but he must not wake Harpa.

"Eat a plenty and lay," he murmured softly to the hens as he scattered their corn on the ground. "Harpa likes a lot o' eggs in de bread." When he put a great armful of hay and a dozen ears of corn in the mule's trough, he looked at the