Had Ross taken time to think, he might have reflected that gentlemen making formal calls seldom join in a chase after the main dish of the family supper. But the needs of Babe were instant. The lad flung himself sidewise, caught one chicken in his hat, while Babe fell upon the other in the manner of a football player. Ross handed the pullet to the house-boy, fearing that he had done something very much out of character, then pulled the reluctant negro toward to the steps. “Babe’s a servant,” he whispered to Abner, who had sat rigid through the entire performance. “I helped him with the chickens, and he’s got to stand gentle while you lay the card on.” Confronted by the act itself, Abner was suddenly aware that he knew not how to begin. He took refuge in dissimulation. “Hush!” he whispered back. “Don’t you see Mr. Claiborne’s come out?—He’s going to read something to us.” Ross plumped down beside him. “Never mind the card; tell ’em,” he urged. “Tell ’em yourself.” “No—let’s cut and run.” “I—I think the worst of it is over. When Champe sees us she’ll—” Mention of Champe stiffened Ross’s spine. If it had been glorious to call upon her, how very terrible she would make it should they attempt calling, fail, and the failure come to her knowledge! Some things were easier to endure than others; he resolved to stay till the call was made. For half an hour the boys sat with drooping heads, and the old gentleman read aloud, presumably to Aunt Missouri and themselves. Finally their restless eyes discerned the two Claiborne girls walking serene in Sunday trim under the trees at the edge of the lawn. Arms entwined, they were whispering together and giggling a little. A caller, Ross dared not use his voice to shout nor his legs to run toward them. “Why don’t you go and talk to the girls, Rossie?” Aunt Missouri asked, in the kindness of her heart. “Don’t be noisy—it’s Sunday, you know—and don’t get to playing anything that’ll dirty up your good clothes.” Ross pressed his lips hard together; his heart swelled with the rage of the misunderstood. Had the card been in his possession, he would, at that instant, have laid it on Aunt Missouri without a qualm. “What is it?” demanded the old gentleman, a bit testily. “The girls want to hear you read, father,” said Aunt Missouri, shrewdly; and she got up and trotted on short, fat ankles to the girls in the arbor. The three returned together, Alicia casting curious glances at the uncomfortable youths, Champe threatening to burst into giggles with every breath. Abner sat hard on his cap and blushed silently. Ross twisted his hat into a three-cornered wreck.