Kapus--would be justified in tearing Bumblepuppy from the fond arms of
his bride.

We asked Johnnie's uncle to dine with us. He thanked us warmly.

"Boys, you surmise that I'm feelin' lonesome. And I am. But I won't be
lonesome long. The widder can't let that cow o' hers go without two
milkin's, an' her pigs an' chickens must be fed. She'll be back in the
village 'bout four or five; an' to-night, to-night, boys, my Johnnie
'll be home to supper."

Ajax discreetly descanted upon the widow's fine complexion, but old
man Kapus lent him but an indifferent ear.

"She's fat an' slick," he admitted, "but Johnnie's fat an' slick, too.
An' who made him so? Why--his uncle Abram. D'ye think now that I've
fed him up and got him into sech fine shape that he'll leave me? No,
sir. You might act that-a-way, but not my Johnnie."

After dinner, we accompanied Uncle Abram as far as the creek which
flows between the village and our domain. Here stand some fine
cottonwood trees and half-a-dozen lordly white-oaks. The spot is
famous as a picnicking ground, and in the heat of summer is as cool a
place as may be found in the county. And here, paddling in the brook
like an urchin, we found Bumblepuppy. His eyes sparkled as they fell
upon the face of his uncle.

"Ye've got back, Johnnie," said the old man.

"Yas. 'Twas hotter'n a red-hot stove on the road."