flower and chivalry of your native land. Believe me, it will be some
dinner dance. The General wanted it to be a stag, but Sue fought to
the last trench, which was tears, and he gave in. These days the
Governor loses no chance to honor his Secretary of State for--for
political reasons," and as he spoke that good Mr. Clendenning looked
at the wheel for steering, and I could see that there was deep concern
in his eyes.

"Is it that--that trouble of mules, Monsieur Clendenning?" I asked of
him softly in a woman's way for administering sympathy for distress
but without the masculine discretion that I was to learn swiftly
thereafter to employ.

"Don't talk about it, for I don't know how much either of us knows or
our chief wants us to know, but Governor Williamson Faulkner is a man
of honor and I'd stake my life on that. He's being pushed hard
and--Gee! Here we are at the General's and I can smell Kizzie's cream
gravy with my mind's nose. I understand that your father was the last
Henry Carruthers of five born up in the old mahogany bedstead that the
General inhabits between the hours of one and five A.M. Some shack,
this of the General's, isn't it? Nothing finer in the State." And as
he spoke that Mr. Buzz Clendenning stopped the car before the home of
my Uncle, the General Robert, and we alighted from it together.

I do not know how it is that I can put into words the beautiful
feeling that rose from the inwardness of me as I stood in front of the
home of my fathers in this far-away America. The entire city of
Hayesville is a city of old homes, I had noticed as I drove in the
gray car so rapidly along with Mr. Buzz Clendenning while he was
speaking to me, but no house had been so beautiful as was this one. It
was old, with almost the vine-covered age of the Chateau de Grez, but
instead of being of gray stone it was of a red brick that was as warm
as the embers of an oak fire with the film of ashes crusting upon it.
Thus it seemed to be both red and gray beneath the vines that were
casting delicate green traceries over its walls. Great white pillars
were to the front of it like at the Mansion of the Gouverneur, and
many wide windows and doors opened out from it. Two old oak trees
which give to it the name of Twin Oaks stood at each side of the old
brick walk that led from the tall gate, and as I walked under them I
felt that I had from a cruel world come home.

CHAPTER VII

THE GIRL BUNCH

And, if I felt i