n that manner as I entered the house, I felt it to a
still greater degree when I was welcomed by that most lovely old black
slave woman of the high temper and good cookery. She opened the door
for us herself, though a nice boy the color of a chocolate bonbon
stood in waiting to perform that office. She had a spoon in her hand
and upon her head was a spotless white turban, as also was an apron of
an equal spotlessness tied around her very large waist.

"You, Mas' Robert, you done come home from the heathen land to keep my
food waiting jest like yo' father did from the minute I ontied him
from my apron string. Come right into the dining room 'fore my gravy
curdles and the liver wing I done saved for you gits too brown in the
skillet," was all of the introduction or greeting that she gave to me
as she waddled along behind Mr. Buzz Clendenning and myself, driving
us down the hall and into the dining-room. "Mas' Buzz, how is yo'
mother? I 'lowed to git over to see her soon as this ruckus of young
Mas' coming home is over. Now, here's the place fer you both and that
no 'count boy will bring in yo' dinner proper to you or he'll be skunt
alive." With which she departed through a door, from which came an
aroma that led to madness of hunger, and left the bonbon servant to
attend us.

"Gee, I hope Kizzie killed by the half dozen last night; if there
aren't three chickens apiece you'll be hungry, L'Aiglon," said Mr.
Buzz Clendenning with a laugh as he seated himself beside me and
unfolded his napkin.

"I wish that you might call me Robert, Mr. Clendenning," I said with a
great friendliness as I ate a food that I had not before tasted and
that I did so much like that I was tempted to steal some to put in my
pocket for fear I would come to believe that I had dreamed it to
exist. It is called corn pone and is made of maize, and it will be
found in some form at every meal upon my Uncle, the General Robert's,
table, good Kizzie assured me as I made her a compliment about it.

"Though the name of that son of our great Napoleon is very dear to
me," I added at his quick glance, fearing he might think me offended
at what is called a nickname.

"Sure, Bobbie, and you'll forget that I wouldn't let you kiss me,
won't you?" he answered as he drew back from the table and lit a
cigarette after passing me the case. "Everybody calls me Buzz the
Bumble Bee because of a historic encounter of mine with a whole nest
of bumblebees right out here i