cer beside the cup. For an instant Everett sat very still and
looked at her, then she picked up the cup and tipped it against her
lips, sipped judiciously and set it down with a satisfied air. For
just a second her eyes had gleamed down at him over the edge of the
cup and a tiny laugh gurgled in her throat as she swallowed her sip of
his beverage.

"That was mine, anyway--he can have his chicken wings," said Everett
with a laugh as he began operations on the food before him.

"It wasn't a very nice party," answered Rose Mary as she went on with
her work on the pile of china. "Stonie acted awfully. He piled up his
plate with pieces of chicken, and when Aunt Viney reproved him he
said he was saving it for you. And Aunt Viney said she was sure you
were sick, and then Uncle Tucker wanted to go look for you and I had
to tell him before them all that you had sent me word. Then Aunt
Amandy said she was afraid you were not a Prohibitionist, and Aunt
Viney said she would have to talk to you in the morning. Then they all
told Mr. Newsome all about you, and I don't think he liked it much
because he likes to tell us things about himself. We are so fond of
him, and we always want to hear him talk about where he has been and
what he has done. I tried to stop them and make him talk, but I
couldn't. It's strange how liking a person gets them on your mind so
that even if you don't talk about them you think about them all the
time, isn't it? But I oughtn't to blame them, for I was so afraid they
wouldn't leave enough of things for you that I forgot to talk myself.
I was glad Stonie acted that way about the chicken, for the piece he
saved made three pieces of white meat for you. Oh, please let's
hurry, because we will miss the speaking if we don't. Mr. Newsome
makes such beautiful speeches that I want you to hear him. Is there
any kind of pride in the world like that you have over your friends?"

CHAPTER VI

THE ENEMY, THE ROD AND THE STAFF

And the days that followed the Senator's prohibition rally at
Sweetbriar were those of carnival for jocund spring all up and down
Providence Road and out over the Valley. Rugged old Harpeth began to
be crowned with wreaths of tender green and pink which trailed down
its sides in garlands that spread themselves out over meadow and farm
away beyond the river bend. Overnight, rows of jonquils in Mrs.
Poteet's straggling little garden lifted up golden candlestick heads
to be decapitated at a