What?  Can’t stay?  But you must.  Quick ez Sonny come thoo this mornin’, wife took to the kitchen, ’cause, she says, says she, “Likely ez not the doctor ’ll miss his dinner on the road, ‘n’ I ‘ll turn in with Dicey an’ see thet he makes it up on supper.”

“Eat an’ run?” Why not, I like to know?  Come on out.  Wife’s at the roller-towel now, and she ’ll be here in a minute.

Come on, Sonny.  Let “dada” tote the clock for you.  No?  Wants to tote ’er hisself?  Well, he shall, too.

But befo’ we go out, doc, say that over ag’in, please.

Yas, I understan’.  Quick ez he’s took with a spell, you say, th’ow col’ water in his face, an’ “never min’ ef he cries”!

I’ll try it, doctor; but, ‘twixt me an’ you, I doubt ef anybody on the lot’ll have the courage to douse ’im.  Maybe we might call in somebody passin’, an’ git them to do it.  But for the rest,—­the bath an’ the mustard,—­of co’se it shall be did correct.  You see, the trouble hez always been thet befo’ we could git any physic measured out, he come thoo.

Many’s the time that horse hez been saddled to sen’ for you befo’ to-day.  He thess happened to get out o’ sight to-day when Sonny seemed to feel the clock in his hands, an’ he come thoo ‘thout us givin’ him anything but the clock—­an’ it external.

Walk out, doctor.

THE CHRISTENIN’

[Illustration:  ‘Y’]

Yas, sir, wife an’ me, we’ve turned ‘Piscopals—­all on account o’ Sonny.  He seemed to perfer that religion, an’ of co’se we wouldn’t have the family divided, so we’re a-goin’ to be ez good ’Piscopals ez we can.

I reckon it’ll come a little bit awkward at first.  Seem like I never will git so thet I can sass back in church ‘thout feelin’ sort o’ impident—­but I reckon I’ll chirp up an’ come to it, in time.

I never was much of a hand to sound the amens, even in our own Methodist meetin’s.

Sir?  How old is he?  Oh, Sonny’s purty nigh six—­but he showed a pref’ence for the ‘Piscopal Church long fo’ he could talk.

When he wasn’t no mo’ ‘n three year old we commenced a-takin’ him round to church wherever they held meetin’s,—­’Piscopals, Methodists or Presbyterians,—­so’s he could see an’ hear for hisself.  I ca’yed him to a baptizin’ over to Chinquepin Crik, once-t, when he was three.  I thought I’d let him see it done an’ maybe it might make a good impression; but no, sir!  The Baptists didn’t suit him!  Cried ever’ time one was douced, an’ I had to fetch him away.  In our Methodist meetin’s he seemed to git worked up an’ pervoked, some way.  An’ the Presbyterians, he didn’t take no stock in them at all.  Ricollect, one Sunday the preacher, he preached a mighty powerful disco’se on the doctrine o’ lost infants not ‘lected to salvation—­an’ Sonny?  Why, he slep’ right thoo it.

The first any way lively interest he ever seemed to take in religious services was at the ’Piscopals, Easter Sunday.  When he seen the lilies an’ the candles he thess clapped his little hands, an’ time the folks commenced answerin’ back he was tickled all but to death, an’ started answerin’ hisself—­on’y, of co’se he ‘d answer sort o’ hit an’ miss.