if he would always be just like this!"

But it was only two days later when she called him to help her; there
was a hen that was possessed to brood, and Aunt Dolcey had declared
that it was too late, that summer chickens never thrived.

"I can't get her out, Wes," said Annie. "She's 'way in under the
stable, and she pecks at me so mean. You got longer arms'n me--you
reach in and grab her."

He came, smiling. He reached in and grabbed, and the incensed biddy
pecked viciously.

In a flash his anger was on him. He snatched again, and this time
brought out the creature and dropped her with wrung neck, a mass of
quivering feathers and horribly jerking feet, before Annie.

"I reckon that'll learn the old crow!" he snarled, and strode away.

"We might's well have soup for supper," remarked Aunt Dolcey, coming
on the scene a moment later. "Dere, chile, what's a chicken, anyway?"

"It's not that," said Annie briefly; "but he makes me afraid of him.
If I get too afraid of him I'll stop caring anything about him. I
don't want to do that."

"Den," answered Aunt Dolcey with equal brevity, "you got think up some
manner er means to dribe his debbil out. Like I done tol' you."

"Yes, but----"

Aunt Dolcey paused, holding the carcass of the chicken in her hands,
and faced her.

"Dishyer ain' nuthin'. Wait tell he gits one his still spells, whenas
he doan' speak ter nobody an' doan' do no work. Why ain' we got no
seed potaters? Marse Wes he took a contrairy spell an' he wouldn't dig
'em, an' he wouldn't let Zenas tech 'em needer. Me, I went out
moonlight nights an' dug some to eat an' hid 'em in de cellar. Miss
Annie, you doan' know nuffin' erbout de Dean temper yit."

They went silently to the house. Aunt Dolcey stopped in the kitchen
and Annie went on into the living room. There on the walls hung the
pictures of Wes's father and mother, cabinet photographs framed square
in light wood. Annie looked at those pictured faces in accusing
inquiry. Why had they bequeathed Wes such a legacy? In his father's
face, despite the beard that was the fashion of those days, there was
the same unmistakable pride and passion of Wes to-day. And his mother
was a meek woman who could not live and endure the Dean temper. Well,
Annie was not going to be meek. She thought with satisfaction of Aunt
Dolcey and the hot flatiron. The fact that he had never lifted finger
to Aunt Dolcey again proved that if one person could thus conquer him,
so migh