"Puss," exclaimed her mistress, "fry a chicken right away! A big one, Puss! Mr. McCloud is very hungry, I know. And be quick, do! Oh, how is the river, Mr. McCloud?" "Behaving like a lamb. It hasn't fallen much, but the pressure seems to be off the bank, if you know what that means?" "You must be a magician! Things changed the minute you came!" "The last doctor usually gets credit for the cure, you know." "Oh, I know all about that. Don't you want to freshen up? Should you mind coming right to my room? Marion is in hers," explained Dicksie, "and I am never sure of Cousin Lance's,--he has so many boots." When she had disposed of McCloud she flew to the kitchen. Puss was starting after a chicken. "Take a lantern, Puss!" whispered Dicksie vehemently. "No, indeed; dis nigger don' need no lantern fo' chickens, Miss Dicksie." "But get a good one, Puss, and make haste, do! Mr. McCloud must be starved! Where is the baking powder? I'll get the biscuits started." Puss turned fiercely. "Now look-a heah, yo' can't make biscuits! Yo' jes' go se' down wif dat young gen'm'n! Jes' lemme lone, ef yo' please! Dis ain't de firs' time I killed chickens, Miss Dicksie, an' made biscuits. Jes' clair out an' se' down! Place f'r young ladies is in de parlor! Ol' Puss can cook supper f'r one man yet--ef she _has_ to!" "Oh, yes, Puss, certainly, I know, of course; only, get a nice chicken!" and with the parting admonition Dicksie, smoothing her hair wildly, hastened back to the living-room. But the harm was done. Puss, more excited than her mistress, lost her head when she got to the chicken-yard, and with sufficiently bad results. When Dicksie ran out a few moments afterward for a glass of water for McCloud, Puss was calmly wiping her hands, and in the sink lay the quivering form of young Caesar. Dicksie caught her favorite up by the legs and suppressed a cry. There could be no mistake. She cast a burning look on Puss. It would do no good to storm now. Dicksie only wrung her hands and returned to McCloud. He rose in the happiest mood. He could not see what a torment Dicksie was in, and took the water without asking himself why it trembled in her hand. Her restrained manner did not worry him, for he felt that his fight at the river was won, and the prospect of fried chicken composed him. Even the long hour before Puss, calm and inviting in a white cap and apron, appeared to announce supper, passed like a dream. When Dicksie rose to lead the way to the dining-room, McCloud walked on air; the high color about her eyes intoxicated him. Not till half the fried chicken, with many compliments from McCloud, had disappeared, and the plate had gone out for the second dozen biscuits, did he notice Dicksie's abstraction. "I'm sure you need worry no longer about the water," he observed reassuringly. "I think the worst of the danger is past." Dicksie looked at the table-cloth with wide-open eyes. "I feel sure that it is. I am no longer worrying about that."