“Think of that!” gasped Yancy.

“We ain’t nothin’ fo’ style, it bein’ my opinion that where a man’s a born gentleman he’s got a heap of reason fo’ to be grateful but none to brag,” said Cavendish.

“Dick’s kind of titles are like having red hair and squint eyes.  Once they get into a family they stick,” explained Polly.

“I’ve noticed that, ’specially about squint eyes.”  Yancy was glad to plant his feet on familiar ground.

“These here titles go to the eldest son.  He begins by bein’ a viscount,” continued Chills and Fever.  He wished Yancy to know the full measure of their splendor.

“And their wives are ladies-ain’t they, Dick?”

Cavendish nodded.

“Anybody with half an eye would know you was a lady, ma’am,” said Yancy.

“Kep here is an Honorable, same as a senator or a congressman,” Cavendish went on.

“At his age, too!” commented Yancy.

“And my daughter’s the Lady Constance,” said Polly.

“Havin’ such a mother she ain’t no choice,” observed Yancy, with an air of gentle deference.

“Dick’s got the family, Mr. Yancy.  My folks, the Rhetts, was plain people.”

“Some of ’em ain’t so noticeably plain, either,” said Yancy.

“Sho’, you’ve a heap of good sense, Mr. Yancy!” and Cavendish shook him warmly by the hand.  “The first time I ever seen her, I says, I’ll marry that lady if it takes an arm!  Well, it did most of the time while I was co’tin’ her.”

“La!” cried Polly, blushing furiously.  “You shouldn’t tell that, Dick.  Mr. Yancy ain’t interested.”

“Yes, sir, I’d been hearin’ about old man Rhett’s Polly fo’ considerable of a spell,” said Cavendish, looking at Polly reflectively.  “He lived up at the head waters of the Elk River.  Fellows who had been to his place, when girls was mentioned would sort of shake their heads sad-like and say, ’Yes, but you had ought to see old man Rhett’s Polly, all the rest is imitations!’ Seemed like they couldn’t get her off their minds.  So I just slung my kit to my back, shouldered my rifle, and hoofed it up-stream.  I says, I’ll see for myself where this here paragon lays it all over the rest of her sect, but sho—­the closter I came to old man Rhett the mo’ I heard of Polly!”

“Dick, how you do run on,” cried Polly protestingly, but Chills and Fever’s knightly soul dwelt in its illusions, and the years had not made stale his romance.  Also Polly was beaming on him with a wealth of affection.

“I seen her fo’ the first time as I was warmin’ the trail within a mile of old man Rhett’s.  She was carrying a grist of co’n down to the mill in her father’s ox cart.  When I clapped eyes on her I says, ’I’ll marry that lady.  I’ll make her the Countess of Lambeth—­she’ll shore do fo’ the peerage any day!’ That was yo’ mommy, sneezic’s!” Mr. Cavendish paused to address himself to the baby whom Connie had relinquished to him.