"He carries one of the chickens he bought from you in his pocket all the time, with all necessary food, and it is much larger than any of mine or his in my conservatory. Owen is the one who goes in to tend to them when he brings me home from parties and things and--and--" "Matthew took off all of his and Polly's little Reds yesterday, and I've never seen him so--so--" I paused for a word to express the tenderness that was in dear old Matt's face as he put the little tan fluff-balls one at a time into Polly Corn-tassel's outstretched skirt. "Matthew is a wonder, Ann, and you've got to come to this dance he is giving Corn-tassel Saturday--all for love of you because you asked him to look after her. He is the sweetest thing to her--just like old Mrs. Red here, spreads his wings and fusses if any man who isn't a lineal descendant of Sir Galahad comes near her. He's going to be awfully hurt if you don't come." "Then I'll tear myself away from my family and come, though I truly can't see that I wished Polly Corn-tassel upon all of you. You are just as crazy about the apple-blossom darling as I am, you specially, Bess Rutherford," I answered, with pleased indignation. "Ann, I do wish you could have seen her in that frilled white thing with the two huge blue bows at the ends of the long plaits at my dinner-dance the other night, standing and looking at everybody with all the fascination and coquetry of--of--well, that little Golden Bird peeping at us from the left-hand corner of Mrs. Red Ally's right wing. Where _did_ she get that frock?" "Do you suppose that a woman who runs a farm dairy of fifty cows, while her husband banks and post-offices and groceries would be at all routed by a few yards of lace and muslin and a current copy of 'The Woman's Review'? Aunt Mary made that dress between sun-up and -down and worked out fifty pounds of butter as well," I answered, with a glow of class pride in my rustic breast. "All of that is what is seething in my blood until I can't stand it," said Bess as we walked towards the barn-door. "The reason I just feel like devouring Polly Corn-tassel is that somehow she seems to taste like bread and butter to me; I'm tired of life served with mayonnaise dressing with tabasco and caviar in it. "Yes, a Romney herb-pot is better," I said, as a strange chant began to play itself on my heartstrings with me alone for a breathless audience. "And if you come in on Saturday you can--" Bess was saying in a positive tone that admitted of no retreat, when Matthew's huge blue car came around the drive from the front of Elmnest and stopped by Bess's roadster. On the front seat sat Matthew, and Corn-tassel was beside him, but the rest of the car was piled high with huge sacks of grain, which looked extremely sensible and out of place in the handsomest car in the Harpeth Valley.