This giant white oak was indeed a patriarch of the plantation. It was planted in Colonial days by the founder of the house of Lauriston and encouraged to grow through succeeding generations till now it had become the most venerable and venerated bit of the estate except possibly the dining room plate and furnishings. These also had been kept intact and handed down from head to head of each succeeding generation of Lauristons.
Colonel Lauriston was himself now almost as much a patriarch as was this oak and the "Big House" itself. A tall, Indian-straight, spare-limbed man beyond middle age, with aquiline features and the grace of kings in his every motion, thoughtful eyes and high well-formed forehead set off by grey mustache and thinning hair.
As the buggy, horse and man stopped, creaking, panting and puffing at the post:
"Hello, John," was the Colonel's greeting.
"Fu-fu-fu-fu-tuh, Hello Park," stammered the visitor. The two men had been neighbors and cronies since boyhood with that comradeship that grows between friends of long standing.
"Aren't you 'fraid you'll leave some grease on the road traipsin' 'long at this rate, John? It's no time for fat men like you to be fussing 'round country roads." The Colonel smiled broadly as he spoke.
"Fu-fu-fu-fu-tuh grease your grandad. Ef youall fu-fu-fu-tuh had s-s-s-some o' my grease you'd fu-fu-fu-tuh have asthma," retorted the visitor.
"They'll sure have to provide a new spring board in
