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POLE BAKER decided to give the young people of the neighborhood a “corn-shucking.” He had about fifty bushels of the grain which he said had been mellowing and sweetening in the husk all the winter, and, as the market-price had advanced from sixty to seventy-five cents, he decided to sell.

Pole's corn-shuckings were most enjoyable festivities. Mrs. Baker usually had some good refreshments and the young people came for miles around. The only drawback about the affairs was that Pole seldom had much corn to husk, and the fun was over too soon. The evening chosen for the present gathering was favored with clear moonlight and delightfully balmy weather, and when Nelson Floyd walked over after working an hour on his books at the store, he found a merry group in Pole's front-yard.

“Yo're jest in time,” Pole called out to him, as he threw the frail gate open for the guest to pass through. “I was afeared thar was a few more petticoats than pants to string around my pile o' corn, an' you'll help even up. Come on, all of you, let's mosey on down to the barn. Sally,” he called out to his wife, a sweet-faced woman on the porch, “put them childern to sleep an' come on.”

With merry laughter the young men and girls made a rush in the direction of the barn. Nelson Floyd, with a sudden throbbing of the heart, had noticed Cynthia Porter in the group, and as he and Baker fell in behind he asked: “Who came with Cynthia Porter, Pole?”

“Nobody,” said Baker. “She come over jest 'fore dark by the short-cut through the meadow. I'll bet a hoss you are thinkin' o' galavantin' 'er back home.”

“That's what I came for,” said Floyd, with a smile.

“Well, I'm sorry, fer this once,” said Pole; “but I cayn't alter my plans fer friend or foe. I don't have but one shuckin' a year, an' on that occasion I'm a-goin' to be plumb fair to all that accept my invite. You may git what you want, but you'll have to stand yore chance with the balance. I'll announce my rules in a minute, an' then you'll understand what I mean.”

They had now reached the great cone of com heaped up at the door of the barn, and the merrymakers were dancing around it in the moonlight, clapping their hands and singing.

“Halt one minute!” Pole called out peremptorily, and there was silence. “Now,” he continued, “all of you set down on the straw an' listen to my new rules. I've been studyin' these out ever since my last shuckin', an' these will beat all. Now listen! Time is a great improver, an' we all don't have to-shuck corn jest like our granddaddies did. I want to make this thing interest you, fer that pile o' corn has to be shucked an' throwed into the barn 'fore you leave yore places.”

“Well, I wouldn't preach a sermon fust,” laughed Mrs. Baker, as she appeared suddenly. “Boys an' gals that git together fer a good time don't want to listen to an old married man talk.”

“But one married man likes to listen to that woman talk, folks,” Pole broke in, “fer her voice makes sweet music to his ear. That's a fact, gentlemen an' ladies; here's one individual that could set an' listen to that sweet woman's patient voice from dark to sun-up, an' then pray fer more dark, an' more talk. I hain't the right sort of a man to yoke to, but she is the right sort of a woman. They hain't all that way, though, boys, an' I'd advise you that are worthy of a good helpmate to think an' look before you plunge into matrimony. Matrimony is like a sheet of ice, which, until you bust it, may cover pure, runnin' water or a stagnant mud-hole. Before marriage a woman will say yes an' no, as meek as that entire bunch of females. Sugar wouldn't melt in 'er mouth, but when she hooks her fish she'll do her best to make a sucker out'n it ef it's a brook trout at the start. I mean a certain kind of a woman, now; but thank the Lord, He made the other sort, too, an' the other sort, boys, is what you ort to look fer. I heard a desperate old bach say once that he believed he'd stand a better chance o' gittin' a good female nature under a homely exterior than under a pretty one, an' he was on the rampage fer a snaggle tooth; but I don't know. A nature that's made jest by a face won't endure one way or another long. Thar's my little neighbor over thar, ef she don't combine both a purty face an' a sweet, patient nature I'm no judge.”

“Hush, Pole, Cynthia don't want you to single her out in public that away,” protested Mrs. Baker.

“He's simply bent on flattering more work out of me,” responded Cynthia, quite adroitly, Floyd thought, as he noted her blushes in the moonlight. “We are waiting for your rules, Mr. Baker.”

“Yes,” spoke up Floyd, “give us the rules, and let us go to work, and then you can talk all you want to.”

“All right, here goes. Well, you are all settin' about the same distance from the pile, an' you've got an equal chance. Now, the fust man or woman who finds a red ear of corn must choose a partner to work with, an', furthermore, it shall be the duty o' the man to escort the girl home, an' in addition to that the winnin' man shall be entitled to kiss any girl in the crowd, an' she hereby pledges herself to submit graceful. It's a bang-up good rule, fer them that want to be kissed kin take a peep at the ear 'fore it's shucked, an' throw it to any man they like, an' them that don't kin hope fer escape by blind luck from sech an awful fate.”

“I think, myself, that it would be an awful fate to be kissed by a man you didn't care for,” laughed Mrs. Baker. “Pole has made his rules to suit the men better than the women.”

“The second rule is this,” added Pole, with a smile, “an' that is, that whoever finds a red ear, man or woman, I git to kiss my wife.”

“Good, that's all right!” exclaimed Floyd, and everybody laughed as they set to work. Pole sat down near Floyd, and filled and lighted his pipe. “I used to think everything was fair in a game whar gals was concerned,” he said in an undertone. “I went to a shuckin' once whar they had these rules an' I got on to exactly what I see you are on to.”

“Me? What do you mean?” asked Floyd. “Why, you sly old dog, you are not shuckin' more than one ear in every three you pick up. You are lookin' to see ef the silk is dark. You have found out that a red ear always has dark silk.” Floyd laughed. “Don't give me away, Pole. I learned that when old man Scott used to send me out on a frosty morning to feed the cattle.”

“Well, I won't say nothin',” Pole promised. “Ef money was at stake, it 'ud be different, but they say all's fair whar wine an' women is concerned. Besides, the sharper a man is the better he'll provide fer the wife he gits, an' a man ought to be allowed to profit by his own experience. You go ahead; ef you root a red ear out o' that pile, old hog, I'll count you in.” Pole rose and went round the other side of the stack. There was a soft rustling sound as the husks were torn away and swept in rising billows behind the workers, and the steady thumping of the ears as they fell inside the barn.

It was not a fair game he was playing, and yet Nelson Floyd cared little for that. Even as it was, it was growing monotonous. He had come there to see Cynthia, and Pole's new rule was not what he had counted on. There was a lull in the merriment and general rustle, and Floyd heard Hattie Mayhew say in a clear tone: “I know why Cynthia is so quiet. It's because there wasn't somebody here to open with prayer.”

Floyd was watching Cynthia's face, and he saw it cloud over for a moment. She made some forced reply which he could not hear. It was Kitty Welborn's voice that came to him on her merry laugh.

“Oh, yes, Cynthia has us all beaten badly!” said that little blonde. “We worked our fingers to the bones fixing up his room. Cynthia didn't lay her hand to it, and yet he never looks at any one else while he is preaching, and as soon as the sermon is over he rushes for her. They say Mr. Porter thinks Mr. Hillhouse is watching him, and has quit going to sleep.”

“That's a fact,” said Fred Denslow, as he aimed a naked ear of corn at the barn-door and threw it. “The boys say Hillhouse will even let 'em cuss before him, just so they will listen to what he says about Miss Cynthia.”

“That isn't fair to Miss Cynthia,” Nelson Floyd observed, suddenly. “I'm afraid you are making it pretty hot for her on that side, so I'm going to invite her over here. You see I have found the first red ear of corn, and it's big enough to count double.”

There was a general shout and clapping of hands as Floyd held it up to view in the moonlight. He put it into the pocket of his coat, as he rose and moved round towards Cynthia. Bending down to her, he said: “Come on, you've got to obey the rules of the game, you know.”

She allowed him to draw her to her feet.

“Now fer the fust act?” Pole Baker cried out. “I hain't a-goin' to have no bashful corn-shuckers. Ef you balk or kick over a trace, I'll leave you out next time, shore.”

“You didn't make a thoroughly fair rule, Pole,” said Floyd. “The days of woman slavery are past. I shall not take advantage of the situation, for I know Miss Cynthia is praying for mercy right now.” Everybody laughed as Floyd led the girl round to his place and raked up a pile of shucks for her to sit on.

“Well, there ought to have been another rule,” laughed Fred Denslow, “an' to the effect that if the winning man, through sickness, lack of backbone, or sudden death, was prevented from takin' the prize, somebody else ought to have had a chance. Here I've been workin' like a corn-field negro to win, and now see the feller Heaven has smiled on throwin' that sort of a flower away. Good gracious, what's the world comin' to?”

“Well, I'll have mine, anyway,” Pole Baker was heard to say, and he took his little wife in his arms and kissed her tenderly.