'
"'Well,'. he says, 'if them's yo' wishes, the buzzards as good
as got you."' Cavendish lapsed into a momentary silence. It was
plain that these were cherished memories.
"That's what I call co'tin!" remarked Mr. Yancy, with conviction.
The Earl of Lambeth resumed
"It was as bad as old man Rhett said it was. Sundays his do'yard
looked like a militia muster. They told it on him that he hadn't
cut a stick of wood since Polly was risin' twelve. I reckon,
without exaggeration, I fit every unmarried man in that end of
the county, and two lookin' widowers from Nashville. I served
notice on to them that I'd attend to that woodpile of old man
Rhett's fo' the future; that I was qualifying fo' to be his
son-in-law, and seekin' his indorsement as a provider. I took
'em on one at a time as they happened along, and lambasted 'em
all over the place. As fo' the Nashville widowers," said
Cavendish with a chuckle, and a nod to Polly, "I pretty nigh
drownded one of 'em in the Elk. We met in mid-stream and fit it
out there; and the other quit the county. That was fo'teen years
ago; but, mind you, I'd do it all over again to-morrow."
"But, Dick, you ain't telling Mr. Yancy nothin' about yo' title,"
expostulated Polly.
"I'd admire to hear mo' about that," said Yancy.
"I'm gettin' round to that. It was my great grandfather come
over here from England. His name was Richard Keppel Cavendish,
same as mine is. He lived back yonder on the Carolina coast and
went to raisin' tobacco.
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