"Morning, little Mis'! I axes yo' parding fer not having breakfast 'fore
sun-up fer you, but they didn't never any Craddock ladies want theirn
before nine o'clock before, they didn't," came Rufus's voice in solemn
words of apology uttered in tones of serious reproof. As he spoke he stood
as far from the door of the feed-room as possible and eyed the scratching
Bird family with the deepest disapproval. "Feed-room ain't no place fer
chickens; they oughter make they living on bugs and worms and sich."

"These chickens are--are different, Rufus, and--and so am I," I answered
him with dignity. "Call me when the gentlemen are ready to breakfast with
me."

"They talked until most daylight, and I knows 'em well enough to not cook
fer 'em until after ten o'clock. They's gentlemen, they is." The tones of
his voice were perfectly servile, though it was plain to see that his
mental processes were not.

"All right, I'll eat mine now, Rufus, and then I want you to get me a--a
hammer and some nails. Also a bucket of whitewash," I said as I closed the
door upon the Birds and preceded him to the house.

"Oh, my Lawd-a-mussy!" he exclaimed as he dived into the refuge of the
kitchen, completely routed, to appear with my breakfast upon his tray and
with such dignity in his mien that it was pathetic. I was merciful while I
consumed the meal which was an exact repetition of the supper of the ribs
of the hog and muffins and coffee; then I threw another fit into him, to
quote from Matthew at his worst in the way of diction.

"Please set a bucket of the wood ashes from the living-room fire out at
the barn for me, Rufus," I commanded him with pleasant firmness.