Rose of Old Harpeth | Page 9

children doings settled up for the day He finds some of the
men have slipped the bridle and gone. That would account for some of
these here wild covortings around in the world we hear about by the
newspapers. But He'll git 'em some day sure as--"
"Am I interrupting any confidence between you and the Mrs. 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. I reckon you can't get on to your rock-picking in
the fields now, but you really hadn't oughter dig up an oil-well to-day
anyway; it might kinder overshadow the excitement of the party."
"Mr. Alloway, has any other survey of this river bend been made
before?" asked Everett as he looked keenly at Uncle Tucker, while he
lit his cigar from the cob pipe the old gentleman accommodatingly
handed him.
"Well, yes, there was a young fellow came poking around here not so
long ago with a little hammer pecking at the rocks. I didn't pay much
attention to him, though. He never stayed but one day, and I was
a-cutting clover hay, and too busy to notice him much 'cept to ask him
in to dinner. He couldn't seem to manage his chicken dumplings for
feeding his eyes with Rose Mary, and he didn't have time to give up
much information about sech little things as oil-wells and phosphate
beds. You know, they has to be a good touch of frost over a man's ears
before he can tend to business, with good-looking dimity passing

around him." And Uncle Tucker laughed as he resumed the puffing of
his pipe.
"And after the frost they are not at all immune--to such dimity,"
answered Everett with an echo of Uncle Tucker's laugh, as a slight
color rose up under the tan of his thin face. As he spoke he ruffled his
own dark red mop of hair, which was slightly sprinkled with gray, over
his temples. Everett was tall, broad and muscular, but thin almost to
gauntness, and his face habitually wore the expression of deep
weariness. His eyes were red-brown and disillusioned, except when
they joined with his well-cut mouth in a smile that brought an almost
boyish beauty back over his whole expression. There was decided
youth in the glance he bestowed upon Uncle Tucker, whose attention
was riveted on the manoeuvers of the General and Tobe, who were
busy with a pair of old kitchen knives in an attack upon the grass
growing between the cracks of the front walk.
"So you have had no report as to what that survey was?" Everett asked
Uncle Tucker, again bringing him back to the subject in hand. "Do you
know who sent the man you speak of to prospect on your land?"
"Never thought to ask him," answered Uncle Tucker, still with the
utmost unconcern. "Maybe Rose Mary knows. Women generally carry
a reticule around with 'em jest to poke facts into that they gather
together from nothing put pure wantin'-to-know. Ask her."
And as he spoke Uncle Tucker began to busy himself getting out the
grease cans, with the evident intention of putting in a morning
lubricating the farm implements in general.
"Your friend, Mr. Gideon Newsome,