I can still see our neighbor in Charlotte, Mr. Nunn, bring the hatchet down precisely on the neck of an old hen from his chicken coop, sending the bird flopping about the sandy yard like the proverbial chicken with its head cut off. After scalding, plucking, and dressing the fowl, he wrapped it in newspaper, handed it to me, and said, “Here, son, take this to your mamma and grandmamma and they’ll make you a good Brunswick stew or pot of chicken and dumplings.” If I learned