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"Oh, nothin'," said Buck carelessly; "only he's been quar ever since. My sisters says he's got a gal over thar, an' he's a-pickin' off these rings more'n ever now. He's going to win or bust a belly-band." "Well, who's Dave Branham?" Buck grinned. "You jes axe my sister Mollie. Thar she is." Before us was a white-framed house of logs in the porch of which stood two stalwart, good-looking girls.
"The boys was a-goin' up the river one night to git ole Dave Hall fer trickin' Rosie Branham into evil. Some feller goes ahead an' tells ole Dave they's a-comin. Hit was Abe.
This I had related to the Blight, and now she withered me. "You just do, now!" I turned to the girl in question, whose name was Mollie. "Buck told me to ask you who Dave Branham was." Mollie wheeled, blushing and angry, but Buck had darted cackling out the door. "Oh," I said, and I changed the subject. "What time do you get up?" "Oh, 'bout crack o' day." I was tired, and that was discouraging.
"Lafayette, we are here!" Before the enthusiastic applause for Mrs. Wainwright's appeal had died away, Miss Lucy Branham of Baltimore stepped forward with a flaming torch, which she applied to the President's latest words on suffrage.
Grayson and Branham found a bee tree, and brought several buckets of delicious honey into camp. Mr. Bryant gathered a quantity of wild peas, and distributed them among the friends who had spices to turn them into sweet pickles. The evening was devoted to friendly intercourse, and the camp was merry with song and melodies dear to loved ones around the old hearthstones.
The Avenue was roped off on account of the parade. There was hardly any one passing at the time; all traffic had been temporarily suspended, so there was none to obstruct. But the Administration's policy must go on. A few moments and Miss Lucy Branham of Maryland and Mrs.
Lucy Branham, who was more valiant than the rest of us, called out from her cell, one day, "Shut your eyes tight, close your mouth over the pork and swallow it without chewing it. Then you can do it." This heroic practice kept Miss Branham in fairly good health, but to the rest it seemed impossible, even with our eyes closed, to crunch our teeth into the raw pork.
No embarrassing questions were asked about Mart or Dave Branham, but I noticed that Mollie had purple and crimson ribbons clinched in one brown hand. The purpose of them was plain, and I whispered to the Blight: "She's going to pin them on Dave's lance." The Hon. Sam heard me. "Not on your life," he said emphatically. "I ain't takin' chances," and he nodded toward the Blight.
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