any good, and to-day you are in your grave!

He's got it in his pocket now. Dabney calls him Mister Bones," grinned
Laurence.

My mother looked profoundly uncomfortable. The Butterfly Man reddened
guiltily under her reproachful glance, but Mary Virginia giggled
irrepressibly.

"I choose the Book of Obituaries first!" said she promptly, with
dancing eyes. Flint drew a breath of relief.

He sat by silently enough, while Laurence and Madame and Mary Virginia
talked of everything under heaven. His whole manner was that of an
amused, tolerant, sympathetic listener--a manner which spurs
conversation to its happiest and best. Not for nothing had Major
Cartwright called him the most discriminatin' listener in Carolina.

"Oh, by the way, Flint! Hunter came by this morning to see Dabney. He
is going to give a series of Plain Talks to Workingmen this winter,
and of course he wants the _Clarion_ to cover them. What do you think,
Padre?"

"I think they will be eminently sensible talks and well worth
listening to," said I promptly.

The Butterfly Man smiled crookedly, and shot me a freighted glance.

"Of course," said Laurence, easily. "Where's your father these days,
Mary Virginia?"

"He was at the plantation this morning, but he'll be here to-morrow,
because I wired him to come. I've just got to have him for awhile,
business or no business."

"You did me a favor, then. I want to see him, too."

"Anything very particular?"

"Politics."

"How silly! You know very well he never meddles with politics, thank
goodness! He thinks he has something better to do."

"That's just what I want to see him about," said Laurence.

"You mentioned a--a Mr. Hunter." Mary Virginia spoke after a short
pause. "This is the first time I've heard of any Mr. Hunter in
Appleboro. Who is Mr. Hunter?"

"Inglesby's right-bower, and the king-card of the pack," said Laurence
promptly.

"One of them which set up golden images in high places and make all
Israel for to sin," said my mother. "_That's_ what Howard Hunter is!"

"Oh, ... Howard Hunter!" said she. "What sort of a person may he be?
And what is he doing here in Appleboro?"

We told her according to our lights. Only the Butterfly Man sat silent
and imperturbable.

"And you'll meet him everywhere," finished my mother. "He's
everything a man should be to the naked eye, and I sincerely hope,"
she added piously, "that you won't like him at all."

Mary Virginia leaned back in her cha