“I reckon not,” the farmer returned, placidly. “Somebody always has to lead out in matters of improvement. My wife an' daughter was dead-set agin me usin' it at fust. They never looked into the workin' of it close, an' thought I mashed my prey on my head, but thar never was a bigger mistake. The flap don't even puncture the skin, as tender as the'r hides are. I know it don't, beca'se they always fall flat o' the'r backs an' kick awhile before givin' up. I invented another thing that I value mighty nigh as high as I do this. I never have seed another one o' them in use, nuther. It's in my room in the bureau-drawer. It's a back-scratcher. It's got a long, white-oak handle, like this, an' a little, rake-shaped trick with hickory teeth at the end. Well, sir, you may not believe it, but I kin shove that thing down under my shirt an' hit a ticklin' spot before you kin bat yore eye, while I used to rub the bark off'n the trees, all about, in my effort to git bodily relief. You may 'a' seed me leave meetin' right in the middle o' some o' yore talks. Well, that's beca'se my wife an' Cynthia won't let me take it to church with me. They'd a thousand times ruther I'd go outside an' rub agin a tree like a razor-back shote than have me do a thing that the Prices an' Duncans hain't accustomed to. Sech folks are agin progress.” Hillhouse laughed obligingly, his mind on what Cynthia had said to him, and then Mrs. Porter came to the door and announced that dinner was served. V POLE BAKER decided to give the young people of the neighborhood a “corn-shucking.” He had about fifty bushels of the grain which he said had been mellowing and sweetening in the husk all the winter, and, as the market-price had advanced from sixty to seventy-five cents, he decided to sell. Pole's corn-shuckings were most enjoyable festivities. Mrs. Baker usually had some good refreshments and the young people came for miles around. The only drawback about the affairs was that Pole seldom had much corn to husk, and the fun was over too soon. The evening chosen for the present gathering was favored with clear moonlight and delightfully balmy weather, and when Nelson Floyd walked over after working an hour on his books at the store, he found a merry group in Pole's front-yard. “Yo're jest in time,” Pole called out to him, as he threw the frail gate open for the guest to pass through. “I was afeared thar was a few more petticoats than pants to string around my pile o' corn, an' you'll help even up. Come on, all of you, let's mosey on down to the barn. Sally,” he called out to his wife, a sweet-faced woman on the porch, “put them childern to sleep an' come on.” With merry laughter the young men and girls made a rush in the direction of the barn. Nelson Floyd, with a sudden throbbing of the heart, had noticed Cynthia Porter in the group, and as he and Baker fell in behind he asked: “Who came with Cynthia Porter, Pole?”