“Yes, just a deep scratch that I can fix all right myself in my own bathroom when we get back to the Mansion in time for dinner with the General by seven-thirty, I hope,” said my beloved Gouverneur as he helped me again to assume the ruined garment of cheviot.  “I was born in the mountains of the State of Harpeth, boy, where when one man sheds his blood for the life of another, that other is said to be under bond to his rescuer and that means a tie closer than the ordinary one of brother by birth.  I acknowledge the bond to you for all time, little brother.  Now drive on quickly to the Mansion before we are in danger of being late for dinner with the General.  It will take me some few minutes to get you out of that shirt and into your dinner coat.  I’ll send for it and you can dress with me.”

“Oh, no, my beloved Gouverneur Faulkner; I must go immediately to home and there make myself presentable for a dinner of some very wonderful pie that my Buzz demanded of that very lovely Madam Taylor in my honor.  That nice black lady, Kizzie, will with joy attend on this scratch upon my arm, assisted by my good Bonbon,” I exclaimed with great alarm for fear that that very strong mind of my Gouverneur would command me to make my toilet in his company in the Mansion.  “Please do not command me that I shall not so do.”

“Of course, youngster, go to your frolic with the rest of the babes and sucklings, only remember that I always like to have you with me, but—­never command you when it is not your pleasure,” answered that Gouverneur Faulkner to me with gentleness.

“It is always my pleasure to be with you, my Gouverneur, and I do like that you command me,” I said to him in answer to that gentleness that had something of a sad longing in it—­for that custard pie of Madam Taylor, I suppose, of which he had probably heard famous mention, but which I would have believed to have been a longing for Roberta, Marquise of Grez and Bye, if I had heard it so spoken, with an English or Russian or French accent, to me in a robe of tulle or sheer linen.  “And may I not return immediately after that supper to that Club of Old Hickory for conversation with you and my Uncle, the General Robert?” I asked with eagerness.

“Boy, by the time you have eaten that fatted pie at the Taylors’ and danced at least a portion of it off of your system I’ll be—­be burning the midnight oil going over the papers in the case of Timms.  I want to weigh all the testimony carefully in the case given in Court about his own and his brother’s relations with the woman Mary Brown.  As long as I am the Governor of the State of Harpeth, no honest man is going to swing for protecting a good woman from the outrages of a brute.  And yet Timms confessed the crime and denied the motive.  Cross-examining failed to get the statement from the woman that would justify my reprieving or pardoning him.  I cannot even seem to dishonor the proceedings of the courts of the State and, boy, I’m just plain—­up—­against—­it.  Here we are at my own side door.  Good night, and make a lightning toilet if you want to get to that pie on time.  Good night, again!” And with those words, which explained his very deep trouble to me, my Gouverneur Faulkner descended from the seat beside me in the Cherry to the pavement beside his Mansion and bade me hurry from him.