strange little exotic against the homely background of Mother
Mayberry's lilac bushes.

"Sister Mayberry," said the deacon as he paused at the foot of the
steps, "this is Martin Luther Hathaway who was left at my house this
morning by the Circuit Rider, as he came through from Springfield on
his way to Flat Rock, to be delivered to you, along with his letter.
I trust his arrival is not unexpected to you."

"No, indeed, Deacon, I was hoping for him though not exactly
expecting him. A month ago while you was sick, our missionary
society had news of a missionary and his wife down at Springfield
who wanted to go up to Chicagy to study some more about some heathen
matter, and couldn't quite make it with two children. My cousin
Seliny Lue down to the Bluff have took the little girl and we sent
five dollars and a letter saying to send the boy to me for the
summer. Come to Mother Mayberry, sonny," and Mother sat down on the
lowest step and stretched out her arms to the little ward of the
church militant.

Martin Luther's big blue eyes, which were set in his head like those
of a Raphael cherub, looked out from under a huge yellow curl that
fell over his forehead, straight into Mother's gray ones for a
moment, and sticking his pink thumb into his mouth, he sidled into
her embrace with a little sigh of evident relief.

"Eat some, thank ma'am, please," he whispered into her ear by way of
a return of the introduction. His little mother tongue had evidently
suffered a slight twist by his birth and sojourn in a foreign
country, but it served to express the normal condition of all