“Oh, it doesn’t matter at all, Brother Hillhouse,” the old woman assured him. “I’ll go on an’ overtake Mr. Porter; you and Cynthia can stroll home by the shadiest way. You needn’t walk fast; you’ll get hot if you do. Cynthia, I won’t need you before dinner. I’ve got everything ready, with nothing to do but lay back the cloth and push the plates into their places. I want Brother Hillhouse just to taste that pound cake you made. I’m a good hand at desserts myself, Brother Hillhouse, but she can beat me any day in the week.” “Oh, I know Miss Cynthia can cook,” said the minister. “At the picnic at Cohutta Springs last week she took the prize for her fried chicken.” “I told you all that mother fried that chicken,” said the girl indifferently. She had seen Nelson Floyd mounting his fine Kentucky horse among the trees across the street, and had deliberately turned her back toward him. “Well, I believe I _did_ fix the chicken,” Mrs. Porter admitted, “but she made the custards and the cake and icing. Besides, the poor girl was having a lot of trouble with her dress. She washed and did up that muslin twice—the iron spoiled it the first time. I declare I’d have been out of heart, but she was cheerful all through it. Here comes Nathan now. He never will go home by himself; he is afraid I’ll lag behind and he’ll get a late dinner.” “How are you today, Brother Porter?” Hillhouse asked as they came upon the old man under the trees, a little way from the church. “Oh, I’m about as common,” was the drawling answer. “You may notice that I limp a little in my left leg. Ever since I had white swellin’ I’ve had trouble with that selfsame leg. I wish you folks would jest stop an’ take a peep at it. It looks to me like the blood’s quit circulatin’ in the veins. It went to sleep while you was a-talkin’ this mornin’—now, I’ll swear I didn’t mean that as a reflection.” He paused at a fallen tree, put his foot upon it and started to roll up the leg of his trousers, but his wife drew him on impatiently. “I wonder what you’ll do next,” she said reprovingly. “This is no time and place for that. What would the Duncans think if they was to drive by while you was doing the like of that on a public road? Come on with me, and let’s leave the young folks to themselves.” Grumblingly Porter obeyed. His wife walked briskly and made him keep pace with her, and they were soon several yards ahead of the young couple. Hillhouse was silent for several minutes, and his smooth-shaven face was quite serious in expression. “I’m afraid I’m going to bore you on that same old line, Miss Cynthia,” he said presently. “Really, I can’t well help it. This morning I fancied you listened attentively to what I was saying in my sermon.” “Oh, yes, I always do that,” the girl returned, with an almost perceptible shudder of her shoulders.