ith a rising color. "I wouldn't interfere with your plans
for the world--if I could."

"Well, you take him if you can get him," answered Eliza generously;
"somebody'll grow up by that time for me. But he couldn't make you take
oil, could he?" she asked doubtfully, the memory of yesterday's escape
lurking in her mind and explaining her most unfeminine generosity.

Miss Wingate eyed her for a moment with mirth fairly dancing over her
face, "Yes," she said with a laugh, "I believe he could!"

"Elinory, child," said Mother as she came out from the front hall,
"here we are a half hour late with this cream, and both of us under
promise solemn to Tom to have it down by four o'clock. 'Liza, honey,
how's the baby?"

"He have got a new top-tooth and throwed up onct this morning,"
answered Eliza in a practical tone of voice.

"Dearie me," said Mother anxiously, for the Pike teether had up to this
time been the Doctor's prize patient. "I wonder if your Maw remembered
the lime water faithful?"

"I expect she forgot it, for she was whipping Susie for sassing Aunt
Prissy, and Bud for saying fool," answered Eliza, not at all hesitating
to lay bare the iniquities of her family circle.

"I'm sorry they did like that," said Mother with real concern at the
news of such delinquencies.

"Yes'm, Susie told Aunt Prissy Mis' Peavey said she were a-setting her
cap fer Mr. Hoover and it made Bud mad 'cause he fights 'Lias Hoover
and he called her a fool. He hadn't oughter done it, but he's touchy
'bout Aunt Prissy and so's Paw. There comes Deacon and a little boy
with him."

As she spoke, Mother rose to greet Deacon Bostick who had turned in the
front gate and got as far up the front walk as the second snowball
bush. The Deacon was tall, lean, bent and snow-crowned, with bright old
eyes that rested in a benediction on the group on the porch that his
fine old smile confirmed. By the hand he led a tiny boy who was clad in
a long nondescript garment and topped off by a queer red fez, pulled
down over a crop of yellow curls, a strange little exotic against the
homely background of Mother Mayberry's lilac bushes.

"Sister Mayberry," said the deacon as he paused at the foot of the
steps, "this is Martin Luther Hathaway who was left at my house this
morning by the Circuit Rider, as he came through from Springfield on
his way to Flat Rock, to be delivered to you, along with his letter. I
trust his arrival is not unexpected to you."

"No, in