Bronson grabbed up carving-knife and fork. "Great Caesar! I must have been dreaming. I _was_ dreaming. I was recalling a turkey hunt down in Virginia with Colonel Stillwell and his man Plato. Plato was a good caller--but we didn't get a turkey. Now, this is as tender as--as it ought to be. A little more gravy? And as we came home, the colonel, who was of the real mint-julep type, proposed as a joke that Plato see what he could do toward getting some kind of bird for dinner that night. And when Plato lifted the covers, sure enough there was a fine, fat roast chicken. The colonel, who lived in town and did not keep chickens, asked Plato how much he had paid for it. Plato almost dropped the cover. 'Mars' George,' he said with real solicitude in his voice,' is you sick?' And speaking of turkeys--" "Who was speaking of turkeys?" asked Dorothy. "Why, I think this chicken is superior to any domestic turkey I ever tasted," concluded Bronson. "Was you ever in politics?" queried Lorry. And they all laughed heartily. After dinner Lorry asked for an apron. Dorothy shook her finger at him. "It's nice of you--but you don't mean it." "Now, ma wouldn't 'a' said that, miss. She'd 'a' just tied one of her aprons on me and turned me loose on the dishes. I used to help her like that when I was a kid. Ma runs the hotel at Stacey." "Why, didn't we stop there for dinner?" asked Dorothy. "Yes, indeed. All right, Adams, I'll wash 'em and you can dry 'em, and Dorothy can rest." "It's a right smilin' little apron," commented Lorry as Dorothy handed it to him. "And you do look funny! My, I didn't know you were so big! I'll have to get a pin." "I reckon it's the apron looks funny," said Lorry. "I made it," she said, teasing him. "Then that's why it is so pretty," said Lorry gravely. Dorothy decided to change the subject. "I think you should let me wash the dishes, father." "You cooked the dinner, Peter Pan." "Then I'll go over and try the piano. May I?" "If you'll play for us when we come over, Miss Bronson." Bronson and Lorry sat on the veranda and smoked. Dorothy was playing a sprightly melody. She ceased to play, and presently the sweet old tune "Annie Laurie" came to them. Lorry, with cigarette poised in his fingers, hummed the words to himself. Bronson was watching him curiously. The melody came to an end. Lorry sighed. "Sounds like that ole piano was just singin' its heart out all by itself," he said. "I wish Bud could hear that." Almost immediately came the sprightly notes of "Anitra's Dance." "And that's these here woods--and the water prancin' down the rocks, and a slim kind of a girl dancin' in the sunshine and then runnin' away to hide in the woods again." And Lorry laughed softly at his own conceit. "Do you know the tune?" queried Bronson. "Nope. I was just makin' that up." "That's just Dorothy," said Bronson.