"School just ain't no fun, this year. The new teacher don't never whip a soul! Does he, Mierd?"

"No."

"Not even the Bailey boys?"

"No," Mierd told Walker, "they don't seem so bad no more."

"You mean those big rascals haven't set fire to the schoolhouse this year?"

"No. First day of school they hid a dead rat in the teacher's desk, but since then they ain't done nothing. And you know what?"

"What?"

"Mister Shepherd won't ever make Bud, the oldest one, read.

He's been in the third reader ever since I can remember, but every morning when it's time for the little kids in the third reader to go up front to the recitation bench, the teacher will say, 'Bud, looks to me like the fire's half out. Would you mind tending to the heater?' So Bud goes out behind the schoolhouse to the woodpile and brings in a turn of wood and pokes up the fire."

"Yeah, but you know what I found out just yesterday?" Wiley asked. "Wallace Goode told me that every Sat.u.r.day morning Mister Shepherd rides over to the Bailey house and goes hunting with them boys. And Wallace says he's learning all three of 'em how to read plum good, while he walks through the woods with 'em!

"And I bet can't none of y'all guess how Mister Shepherd punishes you if you don't get up your piece to say for Friday!

Now, Mierd, don't you tell!"

"You've got my curiosity aroused, Wiley. What does he do?"

"Bess, he makes you learn a whole chapter outta the Bible, by heart!"

"I'll have to remember about this next summer when I start teaching. I sort of dread the Friday programs, especially when the parents will be coming."

"Have you got you a school already, Bess?"

"She sure has," Papa told Walker. "Come June, Bess is gonna get her high school diploma in one hand and her teaching certificate in the other! And the folks over around Ellen School want her to teach their three-month summer term."

"Gee, that's good! How much are you gonna make?"

"I'll get fifty dollars a month, but of course that won't all be profit. I'll have to pay out at least ten a month for room and board."

"Oh, well, you'll still have plenty left. How 'bout making me a little loan?"

Mama started pa.s.sing around the pies and cakes. All the laughing and talking died down for a few minutes as we raked the bones and sc.r.a.ps to one side of our plates to make room for the sweets.

Dorris was the first one to start talking again.

"Clyde, your girl up and got married!"

"Which one? You know I had me several when I left here!"

"I'm talking about Lucille."

"Oh, Lucille! Yeah, Mama wrote me about her and Ollie Goode jumping the broom. Too bad. You can tell I'm plain heartbroken, can't you?"

"Ah, I tell y'all, the Goodes had an infare to end all infares!"

"What was so special about it, Mama?"

"Folks told that Mrs. Goode baked five different layer cakes, and then she thought that wouldn't make a big enough show. So, at the last minute, just before Ollie brought his bride home, she dashed in and iced three stacks of corn bread to make them look like three more layer cakes sitting on the sideboard!"

"Sure enough, Mama?" Gertie asked.

"That's what they told on Mrs. Goode. She does like to put on the dog whenever there's any sort of a to-do."

"Now, Mama, you can't talk about infares," Walker said. "You fixed quite a dinner yourself the day y'all welcomed Anna into the family. Remember? You had enough grub cooked up for a log-rolling?

"It was nice," Anna told Mama.

"Aw, I'm afraid it wasn't much!"

"Walker, is Lucille anybody I've met over here?"

"No, Anna, you don't know her. She's a girl Old Man Hawk and his wife raised. She's their niece. Mama, did Lucille and Ollie have their wedding at Mister Hawk's house?"

"Why, no. They were just like nearly all the other young couples around Drake Eye Springs. One preaching Sunday they come driving up to the church in Ollie's buggy. It was right after services. And they didn't even step down outta the buggy. Folks who hadn't already gone home lingered around 'cause they saw something was up. Both Lucille and Ollie were dressed fit to kill. As soon as the preacher came outta the meeting house, he took his stand by the side of the buggy and started the ceremony.

It didn't last two minutes! He just had Lucille and Ollie join right hands and repeat the 'I will's.' He then p.r.o.nounced them man and wife, and that was the end of it. As soon as Ollie could hand the license papers to the preacher, he gave his old horse a slap with the reins, and off they went!"

Dorris pulled his chair over closer to the corner where Clyde was sitting. "You just oughta've been here for their shivaree, Clyde! Man, we made enough racket to wake the dead!"

"Yeah?"

"We didn't shivaree 'em till they moved out to themselves.

Old Ollie thought we'd forgot 'em."

"Who all was in on it?"

"Oh, me and Bess and Jim-Bo and Hi and Casey and the Hansen girls-the whole gang of us young folks. And we took along everything we could lay our hands on: cow bells, washtubs, five or six syrup buckets with rocks in 'em! Captain Jones even let us borrow that fife and bugle of his!"

"Don't forget that I was blowing Papa's hog-calling horn!"

"Yeah, Bess had that steer horn Papa's got. Man, we nearly scared the daylights outta Ollie and Lucille! They admitted the next day that they thought the world was coming to an end!"

"Y'all sure enough surprised 'em?"

"And how! See, we waited till about nine o'clock that Sat.u.r.day night, when we knew they'd be sound asleep. Me and Jim-Bo and Hi climbed up on the roof with the washtubs and hammers while the rest of the boys and all of the girls were easing their way up through the hall. Then, when Jim-Bo let out the whoop, we all cut loose! Wow! What a din!

"We heard Lucille scream! Next minute, Ollie came running out in his nightshirt! Then they saw who it was. As soon as they could pull on some clothes, we all went in. We stayed and stayed.

I reckon it was nearly midnight when we left, wasn't it, Bess?"

"Yes, Lucille cooked us so much ham and battercakes and stuff it took a long time to eat it all up."

"Did y'all ride Ollie on a rail?"