Mrs. Kinzer promised, and gave her black friend such comfort as she could, but Dick Lee’s tongue would never again be the free and easy thing it had been.  Even at home and about his commonest “chores,” he was all the while struggling with his pronunciation.  If he succeeded as well with the rest of his “schooling,” it was safe to say that it would not be thrown away upon him.

Gloriana went her way, and the next to intrude upon Mrs. Kinzer’s special domain was her son-in-law himself, accompanied by his rosy bride.

“We’ve got a plan!”

“You?  A plan?  What about?”

“Dab and his friends.”

“A party!” exclaimed Dab, when his mother unfolded Ham’s plan to him.  “Ham and Miranda give a party for us boys!  Well, now, aren’t they right down good!  But, mother, we’ll have to get it up mighty quick.”

“I know, but that’s easy enough with all the help we’ll have.  I’ll take care of that.”

“But, mother, what can we do?  There’s only a few know how to dance.  I don’t, for one.”

“You must talk that over with Ford.  Perhaps Annie and Frank can help you.”

Great were the consultations and endless were the plans and propositions, till even Mrs. Kinzer found her temper getting a little worried over them.

“Miranda,” she said, on the morning of the day, “all the invitations are sent now, and we must get rid of Dabney and the boys for a few hours.”

“Send ’em for some greens to rig the parlor with,” suggested Ham.  “Let ’em take the ponies.”

“Do you think the ponies are safe to drive just now?”

“Oh, Dab can handle ’em.  They’re a trifle skittish, that’s all.  They need a little exercise.”

So they did, but it was to be doubted if the best way to secure it for them was to send them out in a light, two-seated wagon, with a load of five lively boys.

“Now, don’t you let one of the other boys touch the reins,” said Mrs. Kinzer.

Dab’s promise to that effect was a hard one to keep, for Joe and Fuz almost tried to take the reins away from him before they had driven two miles from the house.  He was firm, however, and they managed to reach the strip of woodland, some five miles inland, where they were to gather their load, without any disaster, but it was evident to Dab all the way, that his ponies were in unusually “high” condition.  He took them out of the wagon while the rest began to gather their very liberal harvest of evergreens, and did not bring them near it again until all was ready for the start homeward.

“Now, boys,” he said, “you get in.  Joe and Ford and Fuz on the back seat to hold the greens.  Frank, get up there, forward, while I hitch the ponies.  These fellows are full of mischief.”

Very full, certainly, nor did Dab Kinzer know exactly what the matter was, for a minute or so after he seized the reins and sprang up beside Frank Harley.  Then, indeed, as the ponies reared and kicked and plunged, it seemed to him he saw something work out from under their collars and fall to the ground.  An acorn-burr is just the thing to worry a restive horse, if put in such a place, but Joe and Fuz had hardly expected their “little joke” would be so very successful as it was.