All the friends remained to breakfast, but their presence did not exclude the children from the table.

While the guests were being helped, there was a momentary silence broken by a faint squeal that seemed to come from under Eddie’s plate.

“Mousie at de table!” cried Harold; then “Oh me dot a bird!” as the notes of a canary came from underneath his plate.

“Pick up your plates and let us see the mouse and the bird,” said their papa, smiling.

They obeyed.

“Ah, I knew there was nothing there,” said Eddie, laughing and looking at Cousin Ronald, while Harold gazing at the table-cloth in disappointed surprise, cried, “Ah it’s gone! it must have flewed away.”

Calhoun Conly, knowing nothing, but suspecting a great deal, and full of anxiety, repaired to Ion directly after breakfast.  Blood-stains on the ground without and within the gate, and here and there along the avenue as he rode up to the house, confirmed his surmise that his friends had been attacked by the Ku Klux the previous night.  He found them all in the library talking the matter over.

“Ah, sir! like a brave man and a true friend, you come when the fight is over,” was his grandfather’s sarcastic greeting.

“It was my misfortune, sir, to be unable in this instance, to follow my inclination,” returned the young man, coloring to the very roots of his hair with mortification.  “But”—­glancing around the circle—­“heaven be thanked that I find you all unhurt,” he added with a sigh that told that a great load had been taken from his heart.  “May I hear the story?  I see the men are tearing down a breastwork and I suppose the attacking party must have been a large one.”

“Not too large, however, for us to beat back and defeat without your assistance,” growled his grandfather.

“Ah, grandpa, he would have helped if he could,” said Mrs. Travilla.  “Sit down, Cal, we are very glad to see you.”

His uncle and Travilla joined in the assurance, but Horace and Arthur regarded him rather coldly, and “Cousin Ronald” thought he deserved some slight punishment.

As he attempted to take the offered seat, “Squeal! squeal! squeal!” came from his coat pocket, causing him to start and redden again, with renewed embarrassment.

“O Cousin Cal! has you dot a wee little piggie in your pocket?  Let me see him,” cried Harold, running up and trying to get a peep at it; then starting back with a cry of alarm, at a sudden loud barking, as of an infuriated dog, at Calhoun’s heels.

Bruno came bounding in with an answering bark; Calhoun thrusting his hand into his pocket with purpose to summarily eject the pig, and at the same time wheeling about to confront his canine antagonist, looked utterly confounded at finding none there, while to add to his confusion and perplexity, a bee seemed to be circling round his head, now buzzing at one ear, now at the other.