the way he kin holler an’ thrash with his fists, but I tell her hit hain’t nothin’ but madness an’ devilment ‘at gits in him.”

With a mother’s superior smile playing about her lips, she glanced understandingly at David, and went on with her cooking. As they came in to the table, she called David’s attention to a low box set on rockers, and, taking the baby from her husband’s arms, carefully placed him, still asleep, in the quaint nest.

“Hoke made that hisself,” she said with pride. “And Cassandry, she made that kiver.”

Thryng touched the cover reverently, bending over it, and left the cradle rocking as he sat down at Hoke’s side and began to put fresh butter between his