“You bet I made time the rest of the way.  I says, ’She’s sixteen if she’s a day, and all looks!’ I broke into old man Rhett’s clearin’ on a keen run.  He was a settin’ afo’ his do’ smokin’ his pipe and he glanced me over kind of weary-like and says, ‘Howdy!’ It wa’n’t much of a greetin’ the way he said it either; but I figured it was some better than bein’ chased off the place.  So I stepped indo’s, stood my rifle in a corner and hung up my cap.  He was watchin’ me and presently he drawled out, ’Make yo’self perfectly at home, stranger.’

“I says, ’Squire’—­he wa’n’t a squire, but they called him that —­I says, ’Squire, my name’s Cavendish.  Let’s get acquainted quick.  I’m here fo’ to co’te yo’ Polly.  I seen her on the road a spell back and I couldn’t be better suited.’

“He says, ’You had ought to be kivered up in salt, young man, else yo’ll spile in this climate.’

“I says, ‘I’ll keep in any climate.’

’He says, ‘Polly ain’t givin’ her thoughts much to marryin’, she’s busy keepin’ house fo’ her pore old father.’

“I says, ‘I’ve come here special fo’ to arouse them thoughts you mention.  If I seem slow ’

“He says, ‘You don’t.  If this is yo’ idea of bein’ slow, I’d wish to avoid you when you was in a hurry.’

“I says, ‘Put in yo’ spare moments thinkin’ up a suitable blessin’ fo’ us.’

“He says, ‘You’ll have yo’ hands full.  There’s a number of young fellows hereabouts that you don’t lay it over none in p’int of freshness or looks.’

“I says, ’Does she encourage any of ’em?’

“He says, ‘Nope, she don’t.  Ain’t I been tellin’ you she’s givin’ her mind to keepin’ house fo’ her pore old father?’

“I says, ’If she don’t encourage ’em none, she shore must disencourage ’em.  I ‘low she gets my help in that.’

“He says, ’They’ll run you so far into the mountings, Mr. Cavendish, you’ll never be heard tell of again in these parts.’

“I says, ’I’ll bust the heads offen these here galoots if they try that!’

“He asks, grinnin’, ‘Have you arranged how yo’ remains are to be sent back to yo’ folks?’

“I says, ’I’m an orphan man of title, a peer of England, and you can leave me lay if it cones to that.’

“‘Well,’. he says, ‘if them’s yo’ wishes, the buzzards as good as got you."’ Cavendish lapsed into a momentary silence.  It was plain that these were cherished memories.

“That’s what I call co’tin!” remarked Mr. Yancy, with conviction.

The Earl of Lambeth resumed

“It was as bad as old man Rhett said it was.  Sundays his do’yard looked like a militia muster.  They told it on him that he hadn’t cut a stick of wood since Polly was risin’ twelve.  I reckon, without exaggeration, I fit every unmarried man in that end of the county, and two lookin’ widowers from Nashville.  I served notice on to them that I’d attend to that woodpile of old