"Frank, Frank Hood!" screamed his wife, pointing towards the gate, "for gracious sake, look behind you!"

Turning, and seeing his grandma, he wheeled, rushed back to the house, through the back door, made for the field, and did not return until dusk.

The reflections of Mr. Hood during the remainder of the day were so uncomfortable that he became uncommonly fretful towards the hands. He had left his poor grandma to fight her battle alone; yet somehow his recent defeat made him feel conscious that if he had remained he would have been unable to render to her assistance of any importance. But he could not but hope that his wife, regarding the great difference between the age of her assailant and her own, especially in her own house, would be as forbearing as possible consistently with her evident resolution to protect her offspring. The points of history in dispute he knew not precisely how to regard. Being almost without any education, he did not feel himself competent to judge, though he must have some apprehension that his grandma may have mixed Cæsar and Bonaparte rather too much with the thrilling scenes that she had been relating to Riley. Later he found himself growing sorry for his wife, in spite of his knowledge of her sufficiency in ordinary contests, and he began to sympathize with her in a possible first defeat; for he loved her with all his heart.

I leave him for a while to his various ruminations.

The old lady, whose approach had been observed so late, aiding her steps with a cane whose head towered above her own, stood for a moment at the gate, seemingly much surprised at the loud cries and singular actions of her grandson. When he had fled, she slowly advanced up the walk. Like his father, Riley retreated, but only into the house. His mother met the visitor half-way.

"What Franky ben a-fussin' so about, Betsy, honey?" asked grandma. "I heerd him a-hollerin' an' a-bawlin' clean in the lane. What could of made him bile over so brash? Any o' the niggers make him mad?"

"Come in, gran'ma. Howdye? Glad to see you; that I am, you dear, precious gran'ma. Now you set right down in that rockin'-cheer. There, now; give me your bonnet. Warm this evenin', ain't it? 'special' walkin'. But you do look so well and peert, gran'ma."

"I'm mod'r't', honey, thank the good Lord. But you hain't told me whut ail Franky, an' I ken but be oneasy what make him mirate 'ith his woices so heavy, an' run back'ard so rapid."

"Franky, gran'ma, were then a-scoldin' of Riley for denyin' of some— but which the poor child is sorry enough for it, an' never meant any

impidence at all; an' ef I ever see a child that love an' have respects of his gran'ma, it's him. Riley! Riley!" she called, "here's gran'ma come to see us. Weren't that good in her? Come out an' tell her howdye. But first you open the top drawer of my bureau, an' take out an' fetch here that new cap you made me make for her; an' you handle it keerful precious, an' whatever you do, don't rumple it. Yes, ma'am; an' ef you'll believe me, gran'ma, that boy, here this very mornin', thes made me put down my work, an' go to makin' that cap he have made me promuss to make for his gran'ma, an' he bought the meturials hisself out of the store an' paid for 'em out of his own cotton money; an' he het the iron for me, an' he set by an' watched me the whole blessed time I were at it tell I finished. Riley think a heap of his gran'ma, Riley do."

The boy soon appeared, holding modestly in his hand the new

cap.

Why, Godamighty bless the child!" exclaimed the old lady; "I don't know whut could of got holt o' Franky to be bawlin' that way at sech a fine boy. Franky ought to be 'shamed o' hisself, an' ef he hadn't of tuck hisself off so quick I'd of give it to him good fer doin' of it. Come here, my child, an' let gran'ma hug him." Riley accepted the embrace gratefully. "He's a smart boy, an 'll make a man, ef he lives, shore's your borned. Why, Betsy, honey, you mayn't know it about that boy, but he know a'ready right smart 'bout the Rev'lution War; an' whensonever he come to see gran'ma, gran'ma goin' to make it her business to p'int out to him more about them awful battleses. Gran'ma know all about them, because she were borned an' raised right thar whar they wuz fit, bless the child's heart. An' as for Franky, ef he ain't afeared to let me lay my eyes on him before I go back home to Patsy's, you tell him from me that I say I'm older'n him, an' by good rights I ought to know a good child an' a smart child when I come up 'ith him, an'-- But laws me, Betsy, honey, ain't you ben married long enough to found out before now what kind o' creeters men folks is? An' that many's the time they think they got to rip an' t'ar round, an' make out like they want to break everything in a thousan' small pieces, when a 'oman, ef she'll only jes' keep her temper fer the times a-bein', an' let him do his bilin' a while by hisself, arfter while, when he's biled over, he'll swage down an' git cooled all over agin? Ef you hain't, I tell you that now, because you young, an' got your life to go through 'ith. It's the natur' o' the seck o' the nuniversal men people o' the good Lord's yeth, an' us women has to put up 'ith it the best we ken. They're borned that way, an' made that way. They don't allays mean nothin' by thar cavortin', no more'n a horse allays mean by his snortin'-why, bless my soul, thar's a rhyme-an' bless the child's heart for not a-forgittin' of his

old gran'ma! Ef it don't 'mind me o' the time, an' it war when Gener'l Greene cum a-ridin' by our house-"

The narration, which there is not space to give, was listened to with deepest attention and respect. When the visitor was gone, Riley said to his mother. “Well, ma, gran'ma, for me hereafter, she may make as many histories an' jographies as she want, an' go by 'em wharsonever they'll take her. She may have the Atlantic Ocean an' the Gulf o' Mexico, both of 'em, a-empt'in' in the Jeems an' the Staunton all in one place, 'ith the Roanoke flung in to boot, an' I'll not try to hender 'em. She may even pit Gener'l Washi ton an' the old man Noah agin one 'nother right at the door o' the ark, for me, an' I'll stan' aside an' let 'em fight it out theirselves, her an' them."

“I think I would, if I were in your place," she answered.

When Mr. Hood came home his face had never worn a more pleasant, affectionate expression. One would have thought that it would have taken days and days to work such a change. He was extremely anxious to hear account of the last battle fought by his gran'ma, and he had come prepared in his mind, like a loyal husband, to lift up, if sorely wounded, the wife of his bosom, and comfort her to the extent of every resource he had within him. No allusion for quite a length of time was made to the visit; but he was thankful to notice the moderately cheerful responses made by his wife to his most cheerful remarks. He did not speak a word to Riley, nor seem to be even aware of his presence, during the whole evening. After the latter had gone to bed, he said, "Oh, Betsy, my dear, I thought I saw gran'ma comin' as I left for the field this evenin'."

"Yes, she were here."

He waited for more in vain.

"Gran'ma fetch any news?" he asked, at length.

"No, not new news. She did tell some things not egzactly like I've heard her before about Gener'l Washi"ton, Debonaparte, an' them, but she were mostly took up 'ith the praisin' an' huggin' of Riley, an' the expressin' her opinions about men persons that flies into vi'lent passion in their families when no 'casion for it."

When she had told him the whole story, he said, "Well, apun my soul! What is a feller to do in sech a case?"

"Why, they is nothin', Frank, ef you want to know. Nothin'. Because the' ain't nothin' to do nothin' about. Riley meant no disrespects of his gran'ma, an' which you ought to of knew, but he'll never conterdict gran'ma again, no matter how her riclections gits all mixed up, because the child don't natchel want to be thes eat up bodacious alive by his own father about Julus Cæsar nor nobody else. I knewed they weren't no 'casion for sech a harricane, because I knewed gran'ma,