“God bless you, honeybunch, and I’m glad William has brought you home at last, the rascal.”  As she hugged me she reached out a strong hand and gave father first a good shake by his shoulder and then by his hand.

“Fine girl, eh, Mary?” answered father as he returned the shoulder shake with a pat on the broad gray percale back, and retained the strong hand in his, with a frank clinging.

I wondered if—­

“She’s her Aunt Mary’s blessed child, and I will have her making riz biscuits like old Madam Craddock’s black Sue for you two boys in less than a week,” she answered him, with a laugh that somehow sounded a bit dewy.

“Oh, do you know about chickens, Mrs.—­I mean, Aunt Mary?” I asked as I clung to the hand to which father was not clinging.

“Bless my heart, what’s that I see setting up on old Madam Craddock’s cushions?  Is it a rooster or a dream bird?” she answered me by exclaiming as she caught sight of Mr. G. Bird sitting in lonely state, but as good as gold, upon the rose-leather cushions.  “I thought I feathered out the finest chickens in the Harpeth Valley, but this one isn’t human, you might say,” and as she spoke she shook off father and me, and approached the carriage and peered in with the reverence of a real poultry artist.  “Bless my heart!” she again exclaimed.

“Those are just Miss Nancy’s whims to take the place of her card-routs and sinful dancing habits,” said Uncle Cradd, with a great and indulgent amusement as all the little crowd of native friends gathered around to look at the Bird family.

“Say, that rooster ought to have been met with a brass band like they did Mr. Cummins’ horse, Lightheels, after he won all those cups up in the races at Cincinnati,” said the tallest of the young farmers, whose ears had begun to assume their normal color.

“And a sight more right he has to such a honor, Bud Beesley,” replied Aunt Mary, with spirit, as she stroked the proud head of the Golden Bird.  “It takes hens and women all their days to collect the money men spend on race-horses sometimes, my son.”

“Well, Mary, I reckon you aren’t alluding to this pair of spanking grays I’ve got; but in case you are getting personal to them, I think we had better begin to go.  Come, get in with the Whim family, Nancy, and let’s be traveling.  It’s near on to a mile over a mighty rough road to the house from the gate here.  Everybody come and see us.”  As he spoke Uncle Cradd assisted me with ceremony into the chariot beside the Golden hero of the hour, and started the ancient steeds into a tall old gate right opposite the bank-store-post-office.  As he drove away something like warm tears misted across my eyes as I looked back and saw all the goodwill and friendliness in the eye of the farmer friends who watched our departure.