The colonel was still viewing it when the dogs began to bark at the lower gate. He turned quickly and saw his two big pointers greeting Mr. Carter. But that gentleman did not notice them as much as usual. There was, indeed, something odd about him. His stout, middle-aged figure seemed to sag down a little at the shoulders and his head drooped. He looked, as he came slowly up the path, like the bearer of bad tidings. He shuffled as he walked and seemed interested in his feet. The colonel, a little surprised at this early visit, shouted a greeting to him. “Hello, Carter! What’s the matter? You’re walking as if”--the colonel chuckled--“as if you had a bunion.” Mr. Carter raised his abashed eyes reluctantly to the old man’s fine, smiling face. “I declare I felt as if I’d been stealing his chickens!” he told Mrs. Carter afterwards. However, he achieved a moment of cordiality as he shook the colonel’s hand. “I--I was coming this way,” he said a little hoarsely; he wasn’t a good liar. “I thought I’d just drop in. How’s the garden coming on? I’ve put in my limas.” The colonel, eying him, pulled his moustache. “They’ll rot. It’s too early. Plato told me that the peas were up well and we’ve got spinach. Sit down, Carter, I’ll call Plato. Have a julep? Or is it too early?” “Too early altogether. I--the fact is, I can’t stay but a minute. I----” Mr. Carter glanced around wildly, groping for a topic, any topic, to introduce his subject. His choice wasn’t exactly an apt one. “I see that speckled hen of yours gets out of the coop still.” His host looked around. “So she does! Can’t keep her in at all. Kind of strong-minded. She’s got fifteen chicks, too. Wanting a setting of leghorn eggs, Carter? I can give you one. Got the finest lot of layers in the county.” Mr. Carter continued to stare moodily at the speckled hen; she had led him astray. “I don’t know,” he replied thoughtfully. “I’ll--I’ll ask Mrs. Carter.” The colonel stared. Plato, a gray-headed old negro, appeared. “Wants yo’ juleps, Col’nel?” “Not now, Plato. Mr. Carter says it’s too early.” Plato grinned and bowed to the visitor. “Howdy, suh. Hopes yo’-all is well. Heared from yo’ son, suh?” Mr. Carter’s heart jumped and then sank with a thud. Plato had achieved it. “This morning, Plato. He’s in New York now, I hope. He’s well, too, and--and----” “I’se sho glad t’ heah it, suh,” said Plato and withdrew, still bowing. Mr. Carter, with his mouth open, stared after him helplessly. He felt now that he should never get his news out unless some one shook it out of him! The colonel did not help him. “So! Well, I’m glad William’s coming back. We’ve missed him. Judge Jessup was speaking of him last night. A fine fellow, he thinks him. By the way, Carter, Jessup gave me a young apple-tree last spring. There’s something the matter with it. I believe it’s got San José scale. Come here and look at it, will you?”