declare if we didn't find her blubberin' over them poppies,
and not a flower on them no mor'n nothing."

Sam Motherwell and his wife were nominally Presbyterians.
At the time that the Millford Presbyterian Church was
built Sam had given twenty-five dollars toward it, the
money having been secured in some strange way by the
wiles of Purvis Thomas, the collector. Everybody was
surprised at Sam's prodigality. The next year, a new
collector--for Purvis Thomas had gone away--called on
Mr. Motherwell.

The grain was just beginning to show a slight tinge of
gold. It was one of those cloudless sunshiny days in the
beginning of August, when a faint blue haze lies on the
Tiger Hills, and the joy of being alive swells in the
breast of every living thing. The creek, swollen with
the July rain, ran full in its narrow channel, sparkling
and swirling over its gravelly bed, and on the green
meadow below the house a herd of shorthorns contentedly
cropped the tender after-grass.

In the farmyard a gigantic turkey-gobbler marched
majestically with arched neck and spreading wings, feeling
himself very much the king of the castle; good-natured
ducks puddled contentedly in a trough of dirty water;
pigeons, white winged and graceful, circled and wheeled
in the sunshine; querulous-voiced hens strutted and
scratched, and gossiped openly of mysterious nests hidden
away.