Biddies,
Mr. Alloway?" asked Everett, as he stood in the barn door with a pan
in one hand and a bucket in the other.
"No, oh, no," answered Uncle Tucker with a laugh. "I was jest
remarking how the Almighty had the lasso of His love around the neck
of all the wild young asses a-galloping over the world and would throw
'em in His own time. Well, I hear you're a-going to get a sochul
baptism into Sweetbriar along about a hour before sundown. Better part
your hair in the middle and get some taller for your shoes."
"I will, most assuredly, if that's what's expected of me for the
ceremony," answered Everett with a delightful laugh. "Here's a pan of
delicacies for the hens, and this bucket is for you to bring some
shelled corn for Miss Rose Mary to parch for them, when you come to
the house."
"I'm not a-counting on going any time soon," answered Uncle Tucker
with a shrewd glance up at Everett as he came and stood in the
doorway beside the tall young man, who lounged against one of the door
posts. Uncle Tucker was himself tall, but slightly bent, lean and
brown, with great, gray, mystic eyes that peered out from under bushy
white brows. Long gray locks curled around his ears and a rampant
forelock stood up defiantly upon his wide, high brow. At all times his
firm old mouth was on the eve of breaking into a quizzical smile, and
he bestowed one upon Everett as he remarked further:
"The barn is man's instituted refuge in the time of mop and broom
cyclones in the house.
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