They climbed out of the water near Kerlerac and gave that gentleman a surprise. “You’ve both got on your clothes!” he exclaimed. “Are you too lazy to strip when you take a Sunday swim?” “Naw, suh. But our fust swim wus a mistake, Marse Cap’n,” Little Bit chattered, chilled by the wind after his day of activity in the water. “Us got on a raff an’ de raff wouldn’t hol’ us up.” “Don’t report to me,” Kerley laughed. “March along home now! Right face! Forward!” A little later Kerlerac marched the two wet youngsters upon the lawn and made them stand at attention in the presence of a dozen hysterical women. “Here are your mud-cats, Colonel,” he smiled. “I found them paddling in the pond in the old sand pit.” “I didn’t intend to get wet, Uncle Tom,” Org began, “but the raft was not large enough——” “That’s enough for you,” Gaitskill cut him off. “Go around to the rear of the house.” Miss Virginia Gaitskill stood upon the steps smiling. “I think I knew you once, Miss Gaitskill,” Kerlerac said. “We were both younger then.” “You were seven and I was five,” Virginia smiled, as she extended her hand. “I remember,” Kerlerac answered. “You gave me a chocolate rat with a rubber tail. I could hold the tail and bounce the rat, or I could lay the rat down and watch it wiggle its tail very lifelike. I ate that rat, rubber-tail and all.” “You gave me a rabbit-foot in a green-plush box,” Virginia laughed. “I did not eat the foot or the box. I have them both yet.” “I have something that you did not give me,” Kerlerac said earnestly. “I stole it from you. I carried it through three battles across the sea. It is your picture as you were then.” “Have I changed since then?” the girl asked, because she did not know what else to say. “Yes. The photograph I have of you shows a little spitfire girl astride of a wabble-wheeled velocipede.” “Oh—” that young lady gasped. VIII THE LOST FOOT A moving-picture of the performances of Mustard Prophet when he discovered the loss of his rabbit-foot would be a valuable contribution to the silent drama. Alone in that big plantation-house, with no one to talk to, he spluttered with language like an erupting volcano, and cut as many capers as a cat having a fit. After that he mounted the fastest horse on his plantation and rode to town, sweeping down upon his wife like a cyclone of wrath and fear and consternation. “Dat ole bat stole dat rabbit-foot,” Mustard bellowed. “I don’t b’lieve it,” Hopey replied, trying to soothe him. “Dat’s a good ole man.” “He’s a good ole stealer,” Mustard howled. “He knows how to rob de hen-roost an’ hide de feathers. Lawd, when I think how heavy he sets in de amen cornder of de Shoofly meetin’-house, singin’ religion toons an’ foolin’ de people all de time—I tell you dat nigger ought to be churched!”