the critical moment of balancing the notched plank under the revolving
wagon wheel, in Stonewall Jackson's young voice, which held in it
quite a trace of Miss Lavinia's decisive tone of command. Stonie
stood in the barn door, poised for instant return along the path of
duty to the front walk, only waiting to be sure his summons would be
obeyed. Stonie was sturdy, freckled, and in possession of Uncle
Tucker's big gray eyes, Rose Mary's curled mouth and more than a tinge
of Aunt Viney's austerity of manner.

"Better come on," he further admonished. "Rose Mary can't hold that
vine up much longer, and if she lets go they'll all fall down." And as
he raced up the path Everett followed almost as rapidly, urged on by
the vision of Rose Mary drooping under some sort of unsupportable
burden. Uncle Tucker brought up the rear with the spade and a long
piece of twine.

"Oh, I thought you would never come," laughed Rose Mary from half way
up the step-ladder as she lowered herself and a great bunch of budding
honeysuckle down into Everett's upstretched arms. "I held it up as
long as I could, but I almost let it tear the whole vine down."

[Illustration: "That's what comes from letting that shoot run
catawumpas"]

"That's what comes from letting that shoot run catawumpas three years
ago. I told you about it at the time, Tucker," said Miss Lavinia with
a stern glance at Uncle Tucker, who stood with spade and twine at the
corner of the porch.

Miss Lavinia sat in a large, calico-cushioned rocking-chair at the end