“No, you dear old thing,” Mrs. Cary cried with laughing relief, and her hand rested on his shoulder in a gentle caress.  “I’d as soon think of the skies falling.  It is just such faithful friends as you who help me to fight the best.”

“Um?” said Uncle Billy promptly, not quite understanding.

“I mean a woman’s battles, Uncle Billy—­the waiting battles—­that we fight alone.”  Mrs. Gary rose to her feet and turned sadly away.

“Yas’m,” agreed Uncle Billy.  “I dunno what yo’ talkin’ ‘bout but I spec’ you’s right.  Yas’m.”

“Dear Uncle Billy,” repeated Mrs. Gary, while her eyes filled with tears.  “The most truthful—­the most honest—­”

Mrs. Cary stopped and looked sharply at something lying on the ground beside the steps.  Then she turned and swept the old man with an accusing glance which made him quail.

“William!” she said, in awful tones.

“Yas’m,” replied Uncle Billy, feverishly.

“What’s that?”

Uncle Billy immediately became the very picture of innocence and ignorance.  He looked everywhere but at the helpless rooster.

“What’s what?” he asked.  “Aw, dat?  Why—­why, dat ain’ nothin’ ’tall, Miss Hallie.  Dat’s—­dat’s des a rooster.  Yas’m.”

Mrs. Cary came down from the steps and looked carefully at the unfamiliar bird.  No fear that she would not recognize it if it were hers.  “Whose is he?” she asked.

“You—­you mean who he b’longs to?” queried Uncle Billy, fencing for time in which to prepare a quasi-truthful reply.  “He—­he don’ b’long to nobody.  He’s his own rooster.”

“William!” commanded Mrs. Cary, severely.  “Look at me. Where did you get him?”

Here was a situation which Uncle Billy knew must be handled promptly, and he picked up the rooster and made an attempt to escape.  “Down on de low grouns—­dis mornin’.  Dat’s right,” he said, as he saw dawning unbelief in his mistress’ face.  “Now you have to skuse me, Miss Hallie.  I got my wuck to do.”

“One moment, William,” interposed Mrs. Cary, completely unconvinced.  “You are sure he was on the low grounds?”

“Cose I is!” asseverated Uncle Billy, meanwhile backing farther away.

“What was he doing there?”

Uncle Billy stammered.

“He—­he—­he, he was trespassin’, dat’s what he was doin’—­des natcherly trespassin’.”

At this marvel of testimony, Mrs. Cary’s lips relaxed in a smile and she warned him with an upraised finger.

“Be careful, Uncle Billy!  Be careful.”

“Yas, mar’m” chuckled the old man.  “I had to be.  I never would a-got him!  Oh, I’s tellin’ de trufe, Miss Hallie.  Dis’ here ol’ sinner tooken flewed off a boat what was comin’ up de river.  Yas’m.  And he sure was old enough to know better.”

“And you saw him fly off the boat?”

“Oh, yas’m.  I seed him.  I seed him,” and Uncle Billy floundered for a moment, caught in his own trap.  “Dat is, not wid my own eyes.  But I see him settin’ in de woods, lookin’ dat lonesome and losted like, I felt real sorry for him.  Yas’m,” and to prove his deep sympathy for the unfortunate bird he stroked its breast lovingly.