where Cally-Lou had her place of residence, those in the kitchen now heard his voice in the house. He had entered, as usual, without taking the trouble to knock, and he came down the long hall, talking and saluting imaginary persons, hoping in that way to attract the attention of Adelaide. Nor was he unsuccessful.

"Well, I declare!" he exclaimed. "Here's Miss Sue Frierson!—an' well-named too, bekaze ever'body knows that she'd fry a sun ef she had one. Howdy, Miss Sue! Miss Susan-Sue! Ef you are well, why I am too! So it's up an' hop to-day. Dr. Honeyman says she won't be well tell she's better. She had company last night, an' she tried for to nod whiles she was standin' up. It'd 'a' been all right ef her feet had n't 'a' gone to sleep. Thereupon, an' likewise whatsoever—as the Peskerwhalian Bishop says—she fell off'n her perch, an' had to be put to bed back'ards. What? You don't know the Peskerwhalian Bishop? Well, his hardware name is William H. Sanders, of the county aforesaid, Ashbank Deestrick, G. M.

"Cally-Lou? Well, I hain't seed the child to-day, but she's up an' about; you'll hear her whistlin' fer company presently. Can't stay? Well, good bye, Miss Susan-Sue; mighty glad I met you when I did. So long, or longer!"

Bowing Miss Frierson out, though she was invisible to all eyes, Mr. Sanders came back toward the kitchen talking to himself. "Well, well! I hadn't seed my Susan-Sue in thirteen year, an' she's jest the same as she was when she engaged herself to me—eyes like they had been jest washed, an' the eend of her nose lookin' like a ripe plum! But sech is life whar we live at. Howdy, Adelaide? Howdy, Lucindy? I hope both of you have taken your stand among my well-wishers."

"La, Mr. Sanders, how you does run on! I b'lieve you er lots wuss'n you used to be!"

"Well, Lucindy, it's mighty hard for to make a young hoss stand in one place. He's uther got to go back'ards or forrerds, or jump sideways. I've jest begun to live good. I feel a heap better sence I was born in the country whar Miss Adelaide spends her time an' pleasure."

"Now, Bishop, tell me, please, if you were really talking to Miss——Miss——"

"Frierson—Miss Susan-Sue Frierson." Mr. Sanders supplied the name to Adelaide. He seemed to be filled with astonishment. "Did you hear me talking?" he asked in a confidential whisper. "Why, I—I didn't know you could hear me! Now, don't go and tell ever'body. She lives in our country, an' she come for to see Cally-Lou."

"Well, I'm sorry Cally-Lou didn't see her. I had to punish her to-day, and she's not feeling so well."

"Well, I reckon not!" exclaimed Mr. Sanders; "'specially ef you used a cowhide, or a barrel-stave. What have you got to do to-day, and whar are you gwine? I had a holiday comin' to me, an' so I thought I'd come down here an' take you to the Whish-Whish Woods an' hunt for the Boogerman."

At once Adelaide was in a quiver of excitement. "Shall we camp out? Must we take guns? How long shall we stay?"

"Guns! why, tooby shore," replied Mr. Sanders, with an expression of ferociousness new to his countenance; "as many as we can tote wi'out sp'ilin' our complexions; an' we'll stay ontel we git him or his hide. Lucindy'd better fix up a lunch for two—a couple of biscuits an' a couple of buttermilks. Thar's no tellin' when we'll git back."

Now, old Jonas Whipple had the largest and the finest garden in town. It was such a fine garden, indeed, that the neighbours had a way of looking at it over the fence, and wondering how Providence could be so kind to a man so close and stingy, and so mean in money-matters. And as your neighbours can wonder about one thing as well as another, old Jonas's wondered where all the vegetables went to. It was out of the question that old Jonas should use them all himself; and yet, as regularly as the garden was planted every year, as certainly as the vegetables always grew successfully, let the season be wet or dry, just as regularly and just as certainly, the various crops disappeared as fast as they became eatable—and that, too, when nearly everybody in the community had gardens of their own. It was a very mild mystery, but in a village, such as Shady Dale was, even a mild mystery becomes highly important until it is solved, and then it is forgotten. Only Mr. Sanders had solved it thus far, and this was the main reason why he "neighboured" with old Jonas. He had discovered that the vegetables went to the maintenance of a small colony of "tackies" that had settled near Shady Dale—"dirt-eaters" they were called. They were so poor and improvident that the men went in rags and the women in tatters; and only old Jonas's fine garden was free to them. In the early morning twilight they would slip in with their bags and their baskets, and were gone before anybody but themselves had shaken off the shackles of sleep.

Eighteen Hundred and Sixty-eight seemed to be very pale when Adelaide and I found it under the honeysuckle vine, but in old Jonas's garden it was particularly brilliant in its colours of green. Green is the admiration of summer, and it has more beautiful shades than the rainbow. Observe the marked difference between the cabbage and the corn, between the squash and watermelon vines, between the asparagus and the cucumber, between the red pepper plants and the tomato vines! These variations are worth more than a day's study by any artist who is ambitious of training his eyes to colour.

In old Jonas's garden in the summer we are speaking of, there were three squares of corn, the finest that had ever been seen on upland. And it was very funny, too: for old Jonas had planted early, and the frost had come down and nipped the corn when it was about three inches high. The negro gardener was in despair; in all his experience, and he was gray-headed, he had never seen anything like this late frost, and he was anxious for the corn to be ploughed up, so that it could be replanted. Old Jonas wouldn't hear to the proposition, and the gardener went about his business, wondering how a man could be so stingy about seed corn, when he had seven or eight bushels stored away in the dry cellar.

But, as time went on, the gardener discovered that old Jonas had wisdom on his side of the fence; the corn not only came up again after being cut down, but it grew twice as fast, and almost twice as high as anybody else's corn. In short, there had never before been seen, in that neighbourhood, a roasting-ear patch quite as vigorous. Some of the cornstalks were nearly fourteen feet high, and some of them had as many as four ear-sprouts showing. The patch was so rank and healthy that it attracted the attention of Mr. Sanders. He climbed the fence, and went into old Jonas's garden to give it a close examination. A good breeze was blowing at the time, and the sword-like leaves of the corn were stirred by it, so that they waved up and down and from side to side, whispering to one another, "Whish-whish!" That was enough for Mr. Sanders. He thought instantly of Adelaide, and he named the roasting-ear patch the Whish-Whish Woods, and that was where he proposed to go hunting for the Boogerman, the awful, greedy creature that ate Nunky-Punky's vegetables raw!

Lucindy didn't need any training in the quick-lunch line, and in less than no time, if we may deal familiarly with the ticking of the clock, she had cut two biscuits open and inserted in each a juicy slice of ham; and while she was doing this, Adelaide ran to her armoury, where she kept her weapons, offensive and defensive, and came running back with two guns. They were cornstalk guns, but not the less dangerous on that account. They were very long and, as Mr. Sanders said, they had about them an appearance of violence calculated to make the Boogerman fall on his knees and surrender the moment he was discovered. An ordinary gun might miss fire—such things have been known before now—but a cornstalk gun, never! All you have to do when you have a cornstalk gun, is to point it at the destined victim, shut your eyes and say