The shadows on the grass lay lank and attenuated when the folks came back from the Pastime Rink. Sergeant Bagby sat alone upon Doctor Grundy's porch. There were puddles of spilt water on porch and step and the walk below, and a green foot-tub, now empty, stood on its side against the railings. The sergeant was drawing his white yarn socks on over his water-bleached shanks. “Well, suh, Jimmy,” said Judge Priest as he came up under the vines, “you certainly missed it this evenin'. That was the best speech Gen'l Tige Gracey ever made in his whole life. It certainly was a wonder and a jo-darter!” “Whut was the subject, cumrud?” asked Sergeant Bagby. “Fraternal Strife and Brotherly Love,” replied the judge. “He jest natchelly dug up the hatchet and then he reburied her ag'in--reburied her miles deep under Cherokee roses and magnolia blossoms. But how's your feet? I reckon you've had a purty toler'ble lonesome time settin' here, ain't you?” “I see--love and war! War and love,” commented the sergeant softly. Before answering further, he raised his head and glanced over the top of the intervening hedge toward the house next door. From its open door issued confused sounds of which he alone knew the secret--it was Georgia trying to teach Indiana the words and music of the song entitled Old Virginny Never Tire! “Oh, my feet are mighty nigh cured,” said he; “and I ain't had such a terrible lonesome time as you might think fur either--cumrud.” “That's the _second_ time you've called me that,” said Judge Priest suspiciously. “Whut does it mean?” “Oh, that? That's a fureign word I picked up to-day.” And Sergeant Bagby smiled gently. “It's a pet name the Yankees use when they mean pardner!” VI. ACCORDING TO THE CODE THE most important thing about Quintus Q. Montjoy, Esquire, occurred a good many years before he was born. It was his grandfather. In the natural course of things practically all of us have, or have had, grandfathers. The science of eugenics, which is comparatively new, and the rule of species, which is somewhat older, both teach us that without grandfathers there can be no grandchildren. But only one in a million is blessed even unto the third generation by having had such a grandfather as Quintus Q. Montjoy had. That, indeed, was a fragrant inheritance and by day and by night the legatee inhaled of its perfumes. I refer to his grandfather on his father's side, the late Braxton Montjoy.