"Like other things that people fret for," moralized the mother.
Nevertheless, she reached down for the whistle, wiped the mouthpiece dry, and sent the baby into ecstasies by executing "Yankee Doodle" flourishingly upon it. A chinquapin fife lends itself more readily to the patriotic, step-and-go-fetch-it melody than to any other in the national répertoire. Carter crowed, opened his mouth wide, and beat his fat pink palms together.
"Just as they applaud the clown at the circus!" said the performer. "He already recognizes his mother's talents."
"If he ever fails to do that, I'll flog him out of his boots!" retorted the father.
A wild commotion at "the quarters" cut his speech short. Women shrieked, children bellowed, men roared, and two words disentangled themselves from the turmoil.
"Mad dog! mad dog!" pronounced, as the warning cry is spoken everywhere at the South, with a heavy accent on the first word.
Cousin Frank whipped up the baby; Cousin Molly thrust her hand under the collar of Hector, a fine pointer who lay on the floor, and, urging me before them, they hustled us all into the house in the half twinkle of an eye. In another, Cousin Frank was driving a load of buckshot into his gun faster than it was ever loaded before, even by him, and he was a hunting expert.
"Dear!" his wife caught the hand laid on the door-knob; her eyes were wild and imploring.
"Yes, my darling!"
He was out and the door was shut.