orders that all hands should fly around. "What you doing here?" she
asked Chunk, sharply.

"I'se here ter hep, mistis. Dem's my orders from Marse Whately. He
come ridin' by granny's."

"Then go and kill chickens."

A few moments later the dolorous outcry of fowls was added to the
uproar made by the barking dogs.

With a chill of fear Miss Lou, in her chamber, recognized her
cousin's voice, and knew that he, with his band, had come to claim
hospitality at his uncle's hands. What complications did his
presence portend? Truly, the long months of monotony on the old
plantation were broken now. What the end would be she dared not
think, but for the moment her spirit exulted in the excitement which
would at least banish stagnation.

In his secret heart Mr. Baron had hoped that his nephew would go on
to his own home, a few miles further; for applauding him as a hero
was one thing, and having him turn everything upside down at that
hour another. Routine and order were scattered to the winds whenever
Mad Whately made his appearance, but the host's second thoughts led
him to remember that this visitation was infinitely to be preferred
to one from the terrible Yankees; so he threw wide open the door,
and, with his wife, greeted his nephew warmly. Then he shouted for
Perkins to come and look after the horses.

"Ah, mine uncle," cried Whately, "where on earth is to be found a