be," Mother
said in a mollifying tone of voice.

"It'll die--it'll die! Cut one er the lights outen Sam Mosbey's
side--called it a new fangled impendix name--but he'll die--he'll die!"

"Sam's a-working out there on the barn roof right this minute, Squire,
good and alive," said Mother Mayberry with a good-humored smile, while
Miss Wingate cast a restrained though indignant glance at the doubting
old magistrate.

"And old Deacon Bostick drinking cow-hot milk and sucking raw eggs! He
looks like a mixed calf and shanghai rooster! So old he'd oughter
die--and he'll do it! Hot water and me in tormint! Hot water on his
middle in a rubber bag and nothing inside er him! He'll die-he'll die!"

"Oh no, Squire, the good Lord have gave Deacon Bostick back to us from
the edge of the grave; Tom a-working day and night but under His
guidance. He have gained ten pounds and walks everywhere. It were low
typhus, six weeks running, too! I'm glad it were gave to me to see my
son bring back a saint to earth from the gates themselves. Have you
been by to see him?"

"Yes," answered the Squire as he rose much more briskly than he had
seated himself, and prepared to take his departure. "Yes, and it was
you a-nussing of him that did it--muster slipped him calimile--but I
ain't a-disputing! Play actor, ain't you, girl?" he demanded as he
paused on his way out of the door and peered over at Miss Wingate with
his beetling, suspicious eyes.

"Yes," answered the singer lady as she went on putting her biscuit into
the pan. If her culinary manoeuvers were slow they were at least sure
and the "riz" biscuits looked promising.

"Dearie me," said Mother as she returned from guiding her guest down
the front walk and into the shaded Road, "it do seem that Squire Tutt
gets more rantankerous every day. Poor Mis' Tutt is just wore out with
contriving with him. It's a wonder she feels like she have got any ease
at all, much less a second blessing. Now I must turn to and make a dish
of baked chicken hash for supper to be et with them feather biscuits of
your'n. I want to compliment them by the company of a extra nice dish.
If they come out the oven in time I want to ask Sam Mosbey to stop in
and get some, with a little quince preserves. He brought his dinner in
a bucket, which troubled me, for who's got foot on my land, two or
four, I likes to feed myself. I expected he was some mortified at your
being here. He's kinder shy like in the noticing of girls.