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“Hello, Ras!” came the shout of greeting from one of the buggies. “How’s yer old heart?”

“She’s still a-pumpin’!” he replied, causing a general outburst of laughter, since Livermore was noted for an individualistic strain of wit, and anything he might say was to be thus rewarded.

“Hello, is that you, Bill?” he called as they passed him. “I see yer girl is here before you. Drive right in. There’s more people here to-night than yuh’d see at yer own funeral. Hurry up, Bill, ’cause there’s a mighty sight o’ fine women-folks here, and not a Methodist foot among ’em.”

Even a half-hour later, as Mauney strolled about the lawn chatting with acquaintances, load after load of laughing people continued to arrive, and he joined the crowd who were lined up watching Livermore greet his guests.

“Drive right into the yard, boys,” he called. “If they hain’t room under the cow-sheds, hitch ’em up to the wind-mill.”

“Quite a turn-out, Ras,” remarked Doctor Horne, as he suddenly reined his black horse into the lane.