Ostensibly these relations were reversed, and Elias went out with the preacher as a guardian and protector. But the minister was laying his nets. It was on one of these rambles that he broached to ’Lias a subject which he had been considering for some time. “Look here, ’Lias,” he said, “what are you going to do with that big back yard of yours?” “Oh, nothin’. ’Tain’t no ’count to raise nothin’ in.” “It may not be fit for vegetables, but it will raise something.” “What?” “Chickens. That’s what.” Elias laughed sympathetically. “I’d lak to eat de chickens I raise. I wouldn’t want to be feedin’ de neighbourhood.” “Plenty of boards, slats, wire, and a good lock and key would fix that all right.” “Yes, but whah’m I gwine to git all dem things?” “Why, I’ll go in with you and furnish the money, and help you build the coops. Then you can sell chickens and eggs, and we’ll go halves on the profits.” “Hush, man!” cried ’Lias, in delight. So the matter was settled, and, as Aunt Caroline expressed it, “Fu’ a week er sich a mattah, you nevah did see sich ta’in’ down an’ buildin’ up in all yo’ bo’n days.” ’Lias went at the work with zest, and Dokesbury noticed his skill with tools. He let fall the remark: “Say, ’Lias, there’s a school near here where they teach carpentering; why don’t you go and learn?” “What I gwine to do with bein’ a cyahpenter?” “Repair some of these houses around Mt. Hope, if nothing more,” Dokesbury responded, laughing; and there the matter rested. The work prospered, and as the weeks went on, ’Lias’ enterprise became the town’s talk. One of Aunt Caroline’s patrons who had come with some orders about work regarded the changed condition of affairs, and said, “Why, Aunt Caroline, this doesn’t look like the same place. I’ll have to buy some eggs from you; you keep your yard and hen-house so nice, it’s an advertisement for the eggs.” “Don’t talk to me nothin’ ’bout dat ya’d, Miss Lucy,” Aunt Caroline had retorted. “Dat ’long to ’Lias an’ de preachah. Hit dey doin’s. Dey done mos’ nigh drove me out wif dey cleanness. I ain’t nevah seed no sich ca’in’ on in my life befo’. Why, my ’Lias done got right brigity an’ talk about bein’ somep’n’.” Dokesbury had retired from his partnership with the boy save in so far as he acted as a general supervisor. His share had been sold to a friend of ’Lias, Jim Hughes. The two seemed to have no other thought save of raising, tending, and selling chickens. Mt. Hope looked on and ceased to scoff. Money is a great dignifier, and Jim and ’Lias were making money. There had been some sniffs when the latter had hinged the front gate and whitewashed his mother’s cabin, but even that had been accepted now as a matter of course. Dokesbury had done his work. He, too, looked on, and in some satisfaction. “Let the leaven work,” he said, “and all Mt. Hope must rise.” It was one day, nearly a year later, that “old lady Hughes” dropped in on Aunt Caroline for a chat.