. The
Mate Hares, scudding frantically away, reported an advance of men,
with guns and dogs; but the Mate Hares were always silly and
unreliable. So our Bob Whites just keep on eating and making merry.
Fortune may favor them,--who knows? Let us hope, and listen out next
year for the cheery "Bob White, Bob White," from the old
nesting-place.

LITTLE DAVE

The cool fogginess of an August morning has melted under the fierce
sun. The level fields, like a waveless ocean, stretch away into the
dim, green distance. The hot air quivers above cotton-fields, heavy
with bolls and gay with blossoms, which give out a half-sickening
fragrance. A languid air rustles low amid the corn, from whose dense
growth arises a damp, hot breath. Out in the pasture, work-horses
leisurely crop the sunburnt grass, or stand under the trees, lazily
switching away the swarming gnats.

A restful quiet broods over the big plantation, for the plow and the
hoe have finished their task; sun and showers must do the rest. The
crop is "laid by," and the summer holidays have begun. Three days of
rest before the gathering in begins.

Over at the quarter, the young people fill the long, lazy day with
patting and dancing, banjo-playing and watermelon-eating. The elders,
for the most part, are absorbed in preparations for the big holiday
dinner. By dawn, holes have been dug in the ground and heated for the
barbecuing of various meats, and those who hold the honorable posts of
cooks are busily engaged in basting, tasting, and sending the small
urchins after fuel. Some of the women are kneading flour hoe-cakes;
others, gathered about a table under a great mulberry tree, are
peeling fruit for pies, while now and then they raise their voices
with blood-curdling threats to hasten the lagging steps of a little
gang, which, looking like a string of black beetles, troop slowly
along from the orchard, each holding in the skirt of his solitary
garment the small store of fruit which he has not been able to eat. A
row of tables spread in the shade stands ready for the feast, and,
along the pathway, the guests from neighboring plantations are already
approaching.

Up at the great house an unnatural quiet prevails, for upon this day
all work is laid aside and all are off to the barbecue; even old Aunt
Sylvie has forgotten the "misery" in her back, has donned her Sunday
garments, and stepped briskly off to the quarter; cook, too, has
closed the ever-open kitchen