“Yes, General, I will come and bring him to you, and when he comes he will be the best ever—­or he will have died in the attempt.”

“All right,” answered Stonie, completely satisfied with the terms of the bargain, “and you can take your pick of the puppies.  Are you going on the steam cars from Boliver?”

“Yes,” answered Everett, “and I want to find your Uncle Tucker to ask him—­”

“Well, here he is to answer all inquiries at all times,” came in Uncle Tucker’s quizzical voice as he stood in the doorway of the barn with a bucket in one hand and a spade in the other.  “Old age is just like a hobble that tithers up stiff-jinted old cattle to the home post and keeps ’em from a-roving.  I haven’t chawed the rope and broke over to Boliver in more’n a month now.  Did you leave Main Street a-running east to west this morning?”

“Yes,” answered Everett, “still the same old Boliver.  But I wanted to see you right away to tell you that I have had a wire from the firm that makes it necessary for me to get back to New York immediately.  I must catch that train that passes Boliver at midnight.”

“Oh, fly away, you can’t pick up and go like that!” exclaimed Uncle Tucker with alarmed remonstrance.  “Such a hurry as that are unseemly.  Good-byes oughter to be handled slowly and careful, like chiny, to save smashed feelings.  Have you told Rose Mary and the sisters?”

“No; I’ve just come back from Boliver, and I couldn’t find Rose Mary, and Miss Lavinia and Miss Amanda had company.  I must go on over to the north field while there is still light to—­to collect some—­some instruments I—­that is I may have left some things over there that I will need.  I will hurry back.  Will—­you tell them all for me?” As Everett spoke he did not look directly at Uncle Tucker, but his eyes followed the retreating form of the General, who, with the completed whip, the nodding baby and the two awakened puppies was making his way down Providence Road in the direction of the circus band.  There was a strange controlled note of excitement in his voice and his hands gripped themselves around the handles of his kit until the nails went white with the strain.

“Yes, I’ll tell ’em,” answered Uncle Tucker with a distressed quaver coming into his voice as he took in the fact that Everett’s hurried departure was inevitable.  “I’m sorry you have got to go, boy, but I’ll help you get off if it’s important for you.  I’ll have them get your supper early and put up a snack for the train.”

“I don’t want anything—­that is, it doesn’t matter about supper.  I—­I will be back to see Miss Lavinia and Miss Amanda before they retire.”  And Everett’s voice was quiet with a calmness that belied the lump in his throat at the very mention of the farewell to be said to the two little old flower ladies.

“I’ll go on and tell ’em now,” said Uncle Tucker with an even increased gloom in his face and voice.  “Breaking bad news to women folks is as nervous a work as dropping a basket of eggs; you never can tell in which direction the lamentations are a-going to spatter and spoil things.  I’ll go get the worst of the muss over before you get back.”