“You mean kings?”
“I shore do.”
Yancy regarded him reflectively and made a mighty mental effort.
“There's them Bible kings—” he ventured at length.
Mr. Cavendish shook his head.
“Them's sacred kings. Are you familiar with any of the profane kings, Mr. Yancy?”
“Well, taking them as they come, them Bible kings seemed to average pretty profane.” Yancy was disposed to defend this point.
“You must a heard of the kings of England. Sho', wa'n't any of yo' folks in the war agin' him?”
“I'd plumb forgot, why my daddy fit all through that war!” exclaimed Yancy. The Cavendishes were immensely relieved. Polly beamed on the invalid, and the children hunched closer. Six pairs of eager lips were trembling on the verge of speech.
“Now you-all keep still,” said Cavendish. “I want Mr. Yancy should get the straight of this here! The various orders of royalty are kings, dukes, earls and lords. Earls is the third from the top of the heap, but lords ain't no slouch; it's a right neat little title, and them that has it can turn round in most any company.”