When the commotion was over, and the fire out, and everybody gone on but Doc and me, we went to the front porch to set down and rest. The Old Hen was wore out. She admitted it was her fault not letting Uncle Benny know about the setting guinea-hens. She was about to forgive him setting the field a-fire, because him and the bird-dogs had saved the guinea eggs. But when we got to the porch, here lay the bird-dogs in the rocking chairs. There was one to every chair, rocking away and cutting their eyes at her. Their coats and paws were smuttied from the burnt grass—and the Old Hen had put clean sugar-sacking covers on every blessed chair that morning. That settled it. She was stirred up anyway about the way he’d cut the fool at the burying, and she really set in to quarrel at Uncle Benny. And like I say, it turned out to be the last piece of quarrelling she ever done.

She said to him, “You taught them bird-dogs to rock in a rocking-chair just to torment me. Ever’ beast or varmint you’ve brought home, you’ve learned to cut the fool as bad as you do.”

“Now wife, what beast or varmint did I ever learn to cut the fool?”

“You learned the ’coon to screw the tops off my syrup cans. You learned the ’possum to hang upside down in my cupboards, and I’d go for a jar of maybe pepper relish and put my hand on him. . . . There’s been plenty of such as that. I’ve raised ever’thing in the world for you but a stallion horse.”

Doc said, “Give him time, he’ll have one of them stabled in the kitchen.”

“Bird-dogs is natural to have around,” she said, “I was raised to bird-dogs. But it ain’t natural for ’em to rock in a rocking-chair. There’s so terrible many of them, and when they put in the night on the porch laying in the rocking-chairs and rocking, I don’t close my eyes for the fuss.”

Uncle Benny said, “You see, Doc? You see, Mis’ Dover? She’s always quarrelling that me and the dogs ain’t never home at night. Then when we do come in, she ain’t willing we should all be comf’table.

“We just as good to go on to Salt Springs, Doc. Wait while I go in the house and get my camping outfit and we’ll set out.”

He went in the house and came out with his camping stuff. She knowed he was gone for nobody knew how long.

We walked on down to the gate and the Old Hen followed, sniffling a little and twisting the corner of her apron.

“Benny,” she said, “please don’t go to Salt Springs. You always lose your teeth in the Boil.”