se come-all ye songs we used to
sing, going down the river? Remember the time I snatched the sword out
of my cane and lunged at a horse trader from Tennessee? Scoundrel
grabbed it and broke it off and it was all I could do to keep him from
establishing a close and intimate relationship with me. Great old days,
John; and I gad, they'll never come again."

"I remember it all, Gid, and it was along there that you fell in love
with a woman that lived at Mortimer's Bend."

"Easy, now, John. A trifle more liquor, if you please. Thank you. Yes, I
used to call her the wild plum. Sweet thing, and I had no idea that she
was married until her lout of a husband came down to the landing with a
double-barrel gun. Ah, Lord, if she had been single and worth money I
could have made her very happy. Fate hasn't always been my friend,
John."

"Possibly not, Gid, but you know that fate to be just should divide her
favors, and this time she leaned toward the woman."

"Slow, John. I gad, there's your wife."

A carriage drew up at the yard gate and a woman stepped out. She did not
go into the house, but seeing the Major, came toward him. She was tall,
with large black eyes and very gray hair. In her step was suggested the
pride of an old Kentucky family, belles, judges and generals. She smiled
at the Major and bowed stiffly at old Gid. The two men arose.

"Thank you, I don't care to sit down," she said. "Where is Louise?"

"I saw her down by the river just now," the Major answered.

"I wish to see her at once," said his wife.

"Shall I go and call her, madam?" Gid asked.

She gave him a look of surprise and answered: "No, I thank you."

"No trouble, I assure you," Gid persisted. "I am pleased to say that age
has not affected my voice, except to mellow it with more of reverence
when I address the wife of a noble man and the mother of a charming
girl."

She had dignity, but humor was never lost upon her, and she smiled. This
was encouraging, and old Gid proceeded: "I was just telling the Major of
my splendid prospects for a bountiful crop this year, and I feel that
with this blessing of Providence I shall soon be able to meet all my
obligations. I saw our rector, Mr. Mills, this morning, and he spoke of
how thankful I ought to be--he had just passed my bayou field--and I
told him that I would not only assert my gratitude, but would prove it
with a substantial donation to the church at the end of the season."

In the glance which s