nt? It doesn't make much
difference who's president, foreign nations keep on insulting us just
the same. I'd like to see a chief magistrate with nerve enough to say to
the South, 'Boys, go over and grab off Mexico.' That's me."

The Major laughed. "That's me, too," he replied.

"We ought to sweeten this country with Cuba," said Jim, with his mind on
the letter in his bosom.

"Yes," Gid replied, raising his hand, "that's what we ought to do,
and----" His hand fell, and he wheeled about and seized a poker. "I'll
bet a thousand dollars the potatoes are burned up," he said. "Just look
there," he added, raking out the charred remains of what was to be a
feast. "That's the way it goes. The devil titters when men argue. Well,
it can't be helped," he went on. "I did my part. If we had settled
upon killing that fellow Mayo, everything would have been all right. He
has not only insulted us but has robbed us as well."

"To tell you the truth," said the Major, "I'm glad I'm relieved of the
trouble of eating."

"John, don't say that, for when a Southern man loses his appetite for
roasted sweet potatoes, he's a degenerate."

The Major was about to say something, but looking at his watch he jumped
up. "Gracious, Gid, you not only kill your own time but murder mine.
It's nearly two o'clock."

"Sit down, John. Don't be snatched."

"Snatched! Wind-bag, you counsel me to blow my life away. Hold your lamp
out here so that I can see to get on my horse."

When Gid returned from the passage wherein he had stood to shelter the
light, he found Jim on the bench, with no apparent intention of taking
his leave; and this he construed to mean that the giant had something on
his mind.

"Out with it, Jimmie," he said, as he put the lamp upon the
mantel-piece. "I'll sit down here as if it was only early
candle-lighting, and let you tell me all about it."

"How do you know I've got anything to say, Uncle Gideon?"

"How do I know when a dog itches? I see him scratch. You have been
sitting there in an itching silence and now you begin to scratch. You
are more patient than a dog, for you don't scratch until you have itched
for some time. Let the fur fly, Jimmie."

Jim laughed, raised his leg and clasped his hands over his knee. "Uncle
Gideon, I reckon I'm the happiest man in Cranceford County."

The old man sat leaning back against the wall. His coat was off and
under his suspenders he had hooked his thumbs. "Go on, Jimmie; I'm
listening.