she was disposed to be critical, as are most women
who have the knack of management.

"And so you've come back dripping, have you? Well, you ain't the first
head-strong, high-strung chap that's found out water is wet when the
creek blots out the big road, I reckon. I'm no duck myself. When I see
water, I'm like the old cat in the corner; I always feel like shaking
my foot. Kitty, call Bob and tell him to make a fire in the big room.
He's asleep, I reckon, and you'll have to holler. Set a nigger down and
he's snoring directly. You look pale," Mrs. Kendrick continued, turning
to George. "You must have gone in over your ears. I should think a
drenching like that would take all the conceit out of a man."

"Well, it has taken it all out of me, ma'am," said George, laughing.
Then the young man told Mrs. Kendrick of his misadventure, and of the
part Blue Dave had borne in it.

"He's the nigger that roosted on top of my house," said Mrs. Felix,
bustling around and putting a kettle of water on the fire. "Well, it's
a roundabout way to pay for his lodging, but it's the best he could do,
I reckon. Now, don't you worry yourself, George; in ten minutes you'll
be snug in bed, and then you'll drink a cup of composition tea, and
to-morrow morning you'll have forgotten all about trying to make a spring
branch out of Murder Creek."

As the successful mistress of a household, Mrs. Kendrick knew precisely
what was necessary to be done. There was no hitch in her system, no
delay in her methods, and no disputing her remedies. George Denham was
ordered to bed as if he had been a child; and though the "composition"
tea was hot in the month and bitter to the palate, it was useless to
protest against it. As a consequence of all this, the young man was
soon in the land of dreams.

When everything was quiet, Kitty prepared a very substantial lunch.
Then, calling her little brother Felix, she went across the yard to the
quarters, and stopped at Uncle Manuel's cabin. The door was ajar, and
Kitty could see the venerable old negro nodding before the flickering
embers. She went in and called his name--

"Uncle Manuel!"

"Eh! Who dat?" Then, looking around and perceiving Kitty, the old
negro's weather-beaten face shone with a broad smile of surprise and
welcome. "Why, honey! Why, little Mistiss! How come dis? You makes de
ole nigger feel proud; dat you does. I fear'd ter ax you ter set down,
honey, de cheer so rickety."

"Uncle Manuel," said K