seemed to flash from her face and figure.

"What's the matter, Squire Daddy?" she asked, pausing on the
threshold. "Mad again?" The Colonel's head twitched in her direction,
but he held it stiff.

"Well, please don't kill Uncle Jimpson 'til he finds my gloves. I
don't know where I took them off."

"Yas 'm, Miss Lady," Jimpson welcomed the diversion. "I'll find 'em
jes as soon as I git yer Paw his ice."

"Oh, Daddy'll wait, won't you, Dad? I'm in a hurry."

For a moment Jimpson and the Colonel eyed each other, then the
Colonel's gaze shifted.

"I'll git de ice fer you on my way back," Jimpson whispered
reassuringly. "I spec' dat chile _is_ in a hurry."

The young lady in question gave no appearance of haste as she perched
herself on the arm of her father's chair, and presented a boot-lace
for him to tie.

"Going fishing, Dad?" she asked.

"Yes," said the Colonel, struggling to make a two-loop bow-knot. "Noah
Wicker and I are going down below the mill dam. Want to come along?"

"I can't. I'm going riding."