With a straight look into Colonel Blount's eyes, he half turned away, and passed on down the path, Blount looking after him more than half-yearningly.

So intent, indeed, was the latter in his gaze upon the receding figure that he did not hear the swift rush of light feet on the gallery, nor turn until Miss Lady stood before him. The girl swept him a deep curtsey, spreading out the skirt of her biscuit-colored gown in mocking deference of posture.

"Please, Mr. Colonel," said she, "since he can't hear the dinner-bell, would he be good enough to tell whether or not he will come in and eat? Everything is growing cold; and I made the biscuits."

Calvin Blount put out his hand, and a softer shade came upon his face. "Oh, it is you, Miss Lady, is it?" said he. "Yes, I'm back home again. And you made the biscuits, eh?"

"I called to you several times," said Miss Lady. "Who is that gentleman you are staring at? Why doesn't he come in and eat with us?"

Colonel Blount turned slowly as Miss Lady tugged at his arm. "Who is he?" he replied, half-musingly. "Who is he? You tell me. He refused to eat in Calvin Blount's house; that's why he didn't come in, Miss Lady. He says he's the cow coroner on the railroad; but I want to tell you, he's the finest fellow and the nearest to a gentleman that ever struck this country. That's what he is. I'm mighty troubled over his going away."

"Why, he didn't drink his julep!" said Miss Lady, severely.

"No," said Blount, miserably.

"And he hasn't any other place to eat," said Miss Lady, argumentatively.

"No."

"And he—he hasn't been introduced to me," said Miss Lady, conclusively.

"No."

"Colonel Cal, call him!" said Miss Lady, decisively.

Her words roused the old planter.

"You—I say, Eddring; you, there! Come on back here! Forgot something!"

In spite of himself—or was it in union with himself?—John Eddring turned back, and at last stood hat in hand near to the others. A smile softened the stern features of Colonel Blount as he pointed, half-quizzically to the untasted julep on the board-pile.

"Besides, Mr. Eddring," said he; "besides, you have not yet heard that this young lady of ours, Miss Lady, here, helped make the dinner this evenin'. Now, sir, I ask, will you come?"

The same odd tremble caught the claim agent's lip, and he frowned to pull himself out of his own weakness before he made reply. Miss Lady, tall, well-rounded, dark-eyed, her ruff of red-brown hair thrown back, stood looking at him, her hand clasped upon Blount's arm.

Eddring bowed deeply. "Sir," he said, "it wasn't fair of you; but I yield to your superior weapons!"

THE FINAL CHOICE[3]

BY EDMUND VANCE COOKE

"Dark doubts between the promise and event."—Young.

I rather thought that Alexander
Would sound well at the font,
While mother much preferred Leander
For him who swam the Hellespont.
Grandfather clamored for Uriah,
While grandma mentioned Obadiah.

Then mother spoke of Clarence, Cyril,
And Reginald and Claude,
But I thought none of them were virile
Like some such name as Ichabod.
Grandfather spoke for Jeremiah.
And grandma favored Azariah.

Then Harold, Gerald, Donald, Luke,
And lordly Roderick
Waged wordy war with Marmaduke
And Bernard and Theodoric,
While grandpa hinted Zachariah
And grandma thought of Hezekiah.

We spoke of Gottlieb from the German,
Of Gaius, Caius, Saul,
Of Andrew, François, Ivan, Herman,
Of Caspar, Jasper, Peter, Paul.
Still grandpa stuck for Nehemiah,
And grandma ventured Jedediah.

From Aaron down to Zeph we went,
But Fate is so contrary!
For after the august event
The name we really chose was Mary!
Though grandma much preferred Maria,
And grandpa rooted for Sophia.