"Oh, he was up hours ago," responded Miss Saidie, from behind the
florid silver service. "I believe he has gone rabbit hunting with
that young Blake. "

Fletcher laid down his knife and fork and glowered suspiciously
upon his sister, the syrup from his last mouthful hanging in
drops on his coarse gray beard.

"With young Blake! Why, what's the meaning of that?" he inquired.

"It's only that Will's taken to him, I think. Thar's no harm in
this hunting rabbits that I can see, and it keeps the child out
of doors, anyway. Fresh air is what the doctor said he needed,
you know."

"I don't like it; I don't like it," protested Fletcher; "those
Blakes are as mad as bulldogs, and they've been so as far back as
I can remember. The sooner a stop's put to this thing the better
it'll be. How long has it been going on, I wonder?" "About ten
days, I believe, and it does seem to give the boy such an
interest. I can't help feeling it's a pity to break it up."

"Oh, bother you and your feelings!" was Fletcher's retort. "If
you'd had the sense you ought to have had, it never would have
started; but you've always had a mushy heart, and I ought to have
allowed for it, I reckon. Thar're two kind of women in this
world, the mulish and the pulish, an' when it comes to a man's
taking his pick between 'em, the Lord help him. As for that young
Blake--well, if I had to choose between him and the devil, I'd
take up with the devil mighty fast, that's all."