“So she does! Can’t keep her in at all. Kind of strong-minded. She’s got fifteen chicks, too. Wanting a setting of leghorn eggs, Carter? I can give you one. Got the finest lot of layers in the county.”
Mr. Carter continued to stare moodily at the speckled hen; she had led him astray.
“I don’t know,” he replied thoughtfully. “I’ll—I’ll ask Mrs. Carter.”
The colonel stared.
Plato, a gray-headed old negro, appeared.
“Wants yo’ juleps, Col’nel?”
“Not now, Plato. Mr. Carter says it’s too early.”
Plato grinned and bowed to the visitor.
“Howdy, suh. Hopes yo’-all is well. Heared from yo’ son, suh?”
Mr. Carter’s heart jumped and then sank with a thud. Plato had achieved it.