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“Never mind, Ed; they ain’t worth mindin’!”

Her usual self came back quickly as she led him away. Friends began to mutter now, and the swagger of the brothers threatened further trouble. Their eyes rolled, their knotted hands swung about like bludgeons. Threats, horrible snarls and oaths poured from their lips. But there were heard at this critical moment rapid footsteps–a round, jovial voice–and bursting through the door came the great form and golden head of Lime Gilman.”

“Hold on here! What’s all this?” he said, leaping with an ominously good-natured smile into the open space before the two men, whose restless pacing stopped at the sound of his voice. His sunny, laughing blue eyes swept around him, taking in the situation at a glance. He continued to smile, but his teeth came together.

“Git out o’ this, you hounds! Git!” he said, in the same jovial tone. “You! You,” he said to Bill, slapping him lightly on the breast with the back of his lax fingers. Bill struck at him ferociously, but the slope-shouldered giant sent it by with his left wrist, kicking the feet of the striker from under him with a frightful swing of his right foot–a trick which appalled Joe.

“Clear the track there,” ordered Lime. “It’s against the law t’ fight at a donation; so out y’ go.”

Bill crawled painfully to his feet.

“I’ll pay you for this yet.”

“Any time but now. Git out, ‘r I’ll kick you out.” Lime’s voice changed now. The silent crowd made way for them, and, seizing Joe by the shoulder and pushing Bill before him, the giant passed out into the open air. There he pushed Bill off the porch into the snow, and kicked his brother over him with this parting word:

“You infernal hyenies! Kickin’s too good f’r you. If you ever want me, look around an’ you’ll find me.”

Then, to the spectators who thronged after, he apologized:

“I hate t’ fight, and especially to kick a man; but they’s times when a man’s got t’ do it. Now, jest go back and have a good time. Don’t let them hyenies spoil all y’r fun.”

That ended it. All knew Lime. Everybody had heard how he could lift one end of the separator and toss a two-bushel sack filled with wheat over the hind wheel of a wagon, and the terror of his kick was not unknown to them. They all felt sure that the Yohes would not return, and all went back into the house and attempted to go on with the games. But it was impossible; such exciting events must be discussed, and the story was told and retold by each one.

When Milton returned to the parlor, he saw Bettie, tender, dignified and grave, bending over Blackler, bathing his bruised face. Milton had never admired her more than at that moment; she looked so womanly. She no longer cared what people thought.

The other girls, pale and tearful and a little hysterical, stood about, close to their sweethearts. They enjoyed the excitement, however, and the fight appealed to something organic in them.

The donation party was at an end, that was clear, and the people began to get ready to go home. Bettie started to thank Lyman for his help.

“Don’t say anything. I’d ‘a’ done it jest the same f’r anybody. It ain’t the thing to come to a donation and git up a row.”

Milton hardly knew whether to ask Bettie to go back with him or not, but Blackler relieved him from embarrassment by rousing up and saying:

“Oh, I’m all right now, Bettie. Hyere’s yer girl, Milt. See the eye I’ve got on me? She says she won’t ride home with any such”—-

“Ed, what in the world do you mean?” Bettie could hardly understand her lover’s sudden exultation; it was still a very serious matter to her, in spite of the complete reconciliation which had come with the assault. She felt in a degree guilty, and that feeling kept her still tearful and subdued, but Ed leered and winked with his good eye in uncontrollable delight. Milton turned to Bettie at last, and said: