erything seems to be
getting along very well. I think the only thing necessary now is to
invent something or other to keep the cinders out of a man's eyes when
he rides on the railroads."

"Don't let 'em fool you," said the old man earnestly. "Ever'thing's in a
tangle, an' ther hain't no Whig party for to ontangle it. Giner'l
Jackson an' the cussid bank is what done it."

Just then Miss Babe came out on the little porch, and seated herself on
the bench that ran across one end. "Cap'," said Abe, with some show of
embarrassment, as if not knowing how to get through a necessary
ceremony, "this is my gal, Babe. She's the oldest and the youngest. I'm
name' Abe an' she's name' Babe, sort er rimin' like."

The unaffected shyness of the young girl was pleasant to behold, and if
it did not heighten her beauty, it certainly did not detract from it. It
was a shyness in which there was not an awkward element, for Babe had
the grace of youth and beauty, and conscious independence animated all
her movements.

"'Ceppin' me an' the ole 'oman," said Abe, "Babe is the best-lookin' one
er the famerly."

The girl reddened a little, and laughed lightly with the air of one who
is accustomed to give and take jokes, but said nothing.

"I heard of Miss Babe last night," said Chichester, "and I've got a
message for her."

"Wait!" exclaimed Abe triumphantly; "I'll bet a hoss I kin call the name
'thout movin' out'n my cheer. Hold on!" he continued. "I'll bet another
hoss I kin relate the message word for word."

Babe blushed violently, but laughed good-humoredly. Chichester adjusted
himself at once to this unexpected informality, and allowed himself to
become involved in it.

"Come, now!" he cried, "I'll take the bet."

"I declare!" said Mrs. Hightower, laughing, "you all oughtn' to pester
Babe that away."

"Wait!" said Abe. "The name er the man what sont the word is Tuck Peevy,
an' when he know'd you was a-comin' here, he sort er sidled up an' ast
you for to please be so good as to tell Miss Babe he'd drap in nex'
Sunday, an' see what her mammy is a-gwine ter have for dinner."

"Well, I have won the bet," said Chichester. "Mr. Peevy simply asked me
to tell Miss Babe that there would be a singing at Philadelphia
camp-ground Sunday. I hardly know what to do with two horses."

"Maybe you'll feel better," said Abe, "when somebody tells you that my
hoss is a mule. Well, well, well!" he went on. "Tuck didn't say he was
comin', but I be