"No—never any harm—but I reckon Cousin Ann hasn't done much good in her time. When you come right down to it, chronic visiting is a poor way to spend your time, unless you are a powerful good visitor, which Cousin Ann isn't. She got started wrong and never has got put on the right road. I don't see what we are going to do about it. Bob Bucknor is having more than his share, but I can't do a thing with my wife. You see, she made her own living before she married me and she's got no use for what she calls the unproductive consumer. She says that's what Cousin Ann is. Mrs. Bob is getting worn out with it, too, because her girls are grown now and they are kicking at having the poor old lady come down on them on all occasions. It looks as though we'd have to call a meeting of the family and thresh the thing out."

Little Josh, who had acquired the diminutive title merely because he had been born two years later than his cousin, Big Josh, showed despondency in every line of his six-feet-two.

"The women will all be banded against her and want to send her to a home, but we can't stand for that," said Big Josh. "The women'll have to get it into their heads that they can't boss the whole shooting match. Well, come on and let's speak to our little cousin. Oh, you needn't worry. I'm going to be as careful as possible and never say a word I shouldn't. I can't take her into the family unless all the others do. When we have the family meeting about Cousin Ann we might bring up this business of Miss Judith Buck at the same time."

"Good idea! Good idea!" agreed Little Josh.

What Big Josh said to Judith was, "And how do you do, Miss Buck? Remember you? Of course I remember you, but do you remember me?"

"And how could I forget you when you have given me many a lift on the road? You never passed me by without picking me up." Judith's manner was so frank and sweet and she smiled so brightly at Big Josh, returning his vigorous handshake with a strong, unaffected clasp, that the good-natured fellow was won over completely.

"Well, well! We've pretty near got the same name," he cried heartily. "You are Buck and I am Bucknor. I wouldn't be astonished if we had been the same in the beginning. Either your folks knocked the nor off or my folks stuck it on. Ha! Ha! We may be related for all we know."



CHAPTER XVI

The Morning After

"All over and paid for!" yawned Colonel Crutcher the morning after the debut party. "I tell you I couldn't do it every night."

"Neither could I—nor every week, nor every month, nor even every year," agreed Major Fitch. "But I tell you, Crutcher, it was worth it, I mean digging in our jeans for the money and getting so tired out and feeling our age and everything. It was worth it all, just to see our girl's eyes shining and to prove what she is made of. I tell you she stood up there and received with as much dignity as Queen Victoria herself."

The old men were gathered together on the Rye House porch, chairs tilted back and feet on railing as usual.

"I tell you, she's a thoroughbred, all right," declared Pete Barnes. "Why, that gal turned down two of the best-looking beaux at the hop—Jeff Bucknor and that young Harbison—just to sit down an' talk with me, old Pete Barnes. Jeff Bucknor was sore, too. He up an' claimed kin with her an' she just gave him the merry ha ha."

"Well, my j'ints are mighty stiff, but I'm proud to have trod a measure with Miss Judith Buck," said Colonel Crutcher.

"It was worth a lot to see Miss Ann Peyton again, too," said Judge Middleton. "I heard a good deal of talk on the side about Miss Ann last night. It seems that the family is getting together on the subject. The women folks are reading the riot act and simply refusing to have the old lady visit them any more. Big Josh was shooting off his lip pretty lively because the women of the family want to send her to an old ladies' home. I say poor Miss Ann, but at the same time I can see the other side."

Others beside the old men were aweary after the ball. Miss Ann spent a sleepless night and could not drag herself from her bed in time for breakfast. When old Billy came to her room with a can of hot water for her morning ablutions, he found his mistress limp and forlorn.

"Jes' you lay still, my pretty, an' ol' Billy will bring you up some breakfus'. You had so many beaux las' night, hoverin' roun' you like bees 'roun' a honey pot, no wonder you air tuckered out this mornin'. I reckon you couldn't sleep with yo' haid so full er music an' carryin's on."

"I didn't sleep very well, Billy, because I am worrying. I am thinking perhaps we had better move on."

"Don't say it, Miss Ann, don't say it! Buck Hill air sho' the gyardin spot er all our visitations. What put you in min' er movin' on?"

"I overheard, without meaning to in the least, but they spoke quite loudly—I overheard Cousin Milly talking on the subject with some of the others at the ball and I am afraid we are not welcome here."

"Why, Miss Ann, 'twas only yistiddy that young Marse Jeff Bucknor up an' made me a solemn promise that you wouldn't never want fer nothin' so long as he mought live an' be able ter do fer you."

"That's very sweet of him, Billy, but this isn't his home alone. His mother is the mistress here. I think we might go visit Mr. Big Josh Bucknor for a while. He was very cordial and even said he would come for me in a flying machine because of the bad road leading into his place. What do you think of that, Billy? He said you could follow after with the carriage and horses."

"Well, Miss Ann, I think Marse Big Josh air as good as gol' an' as kind as custard, but I can't help a feelin' that he don't mean ev'y-thing he says. Not that he ain't a thinkin' at the time that he will do what he promises, but ev'ybody knows you have ter take what Marse Big Josh says with a dose of salts. I don't mean he wouldn't be proud an' glad ter have us-alls come an' visit him, but I mean he ain't liable ter be a flyin' any time soon er late in this here world er yet the world ter come. He ain't ter say sanctified."

"Well, we'll stay on here a while longer then, Billy, but far be it from me to have it said we had worn out our welcome."

"Now, Miss Ann, that there ain't possible here at Buck Hill. The house pawty air a breakin' up this day an' mo'n likely the gues' chamber will be returned to its rightful habitant. You mus' a hearn wrong 'bout Miss Milly not wantin' you. Miss Milly's all time stoppin' an' tellin' me how proud she air ter have you here under her roof an' how glad she air ter have sech a zample as you fer her gals ter foller in the footsteps er 'portment an' 'havior. An' Marse Bob air continuously singin' yo' praises. I hearn him tellin' Mr. Philip Throckmorton las' night that you were a gues' it wa' his delight ter honor. An' Mr. Philip Throckmorton said as how as soon as he had a home er his own you would be the fust pusson ter occupew his gues' chamber. An' then Mr. Little Josh he said how noble an' 'stinguished you were an' s'perior. I tell you, Miss Ann, these here folks air all proud er bein' yo' kin. They's all quarrelin' 'bout whar you air gonter visit nex'."

Thus the old man soothed her troubled spirit and lulled it into a semblance of repose. At any rate it was easier to pretend that she believed him. At least it made him happy, and in pretending she almost persuaded herself that her kinsmen were glad and anxious to have her. She drank the coffee her old servant brought her and settled herself for a morning of rest, although the house was buzzing with the breaking up of the house party.

The young people, too, were feeling the effect of last night's dissipation. The ball was not over at twelve o'clock, as the invitations had intimated it would be, but had gone on into the wee small hours of morning. It was not often that Ryeville had the chance to trip the light fantastic toe to the music of a Louisville band and the eager dancers had begged for more and more. The old people had dropped out, one by one, but the youngsters danced on and on.

Then it was that Judith had come into her own as it were, and all of the young men who had been denied before supper seemed determined to make up for lost time. The most persistent of the clamoring swains were Jeff Bucknor and Tom Harbison. This popularity of a person who had always rubbed her the wrong way was wormwood to Mildred Bucknor, and for her brother and Tom Harbison to be rivals for Judith's favor added gall to the wormwood. Not that Mildred was not having a very good time herself. Indeed, she was always something of a belle and never lacked for partners, but she had other plans for her brother on the one hand and on the other Tom Harbison had paid her enough attention for her to consider him in a measure her property. She had even announced to several of her friends, in the strictest confidence, that she was engaged to him—or "as good as engaged."

The ball of the night before was under discussion at the breakfast table. It was pronounced, on the whole, to have been a very good ball and a fitting climax to the house party.

"Of course it is perfectly absurd for the old men to think they can put that Buck girl into society by merely giving her a debut party," said Mildred. "It takes something besides good clothes and an introduction to place people."

"How about beauty and intelligence and character?" asked Jeff.

"Well, tastes differ as to beauty, and if she had any sense she would know enough not to try to push herself where she isn't wanted. I don't think it is indicative of a very good character to accept clothes from a man. I heard, on very good authority, that a man gave her her dress. He paid a pretty penny for it, too, I am sure. Nan and I looked at some gowns like hers when we were in Louisville and they were too steep for us, I can tell you."

"I know about the dress. She told me," said Jeff.

"Ah, things have progressed pretty far with you," sneered his sister. "Perhaps she was letting you know she was by way of receiving gifts of such a character from her admirers."

Jeff couldn't trust himself to speak calmly in rebuttal of Mildred's accusations and so he left the room. One thing he had determined, and that was to cut his time of recreation short and knuckle down to the practice of law immediately. A spirit of antagonism was developing between brother and sister that greatly distressed Jeff. He had no doubt that he was somewhat to blame, but at the same time Mildred was spoiled and petulant and overbearing. He doubted her kindness of heart, too, since he had witnessed her cruelty in regard to Cousin Ann Peyton and Judith Buck. He also decided to try a hazard of new fortunes in Louisville rather than Ryeville as his family had planned.

Jeff was glad that the house party was breaking up. Perhaps now Buck Hill would settle down into peace and quiet and he would have a chance to discuss his affairs with his father and mother. He was glad that he would no longer be called upon to do the impossible—to fall in love with the dark beauty, Jean Roland, when for days and nights, in his mind's eye, was ever the picture of a fair girl with a halo of red-gold hair. He was glad, too, that the obnoxious Tom Harbison would be leaving. It was only lately that he had felt Tom to be obnoxious. If Harbison was in love with Mildred, as he had been led to believe was the case, what right had he to be so persistent in his attentions to Judith? Well, at any rate he was leaving the county and would have no more chance to hover around the girl. Any hovering that was done Jeff was determined to do himself.

"I have seen this girl but four times in all, unless I can count those times when she was a little, barefooted kid selling blackberries and I was such a fool I couldn't understand what she was to grow to be, and still I'm as sure as I shall ever be of anything in my life that she is the only girl for me." Thus he mused after he had left the room rather than listen to his sister's gossip. He was standing on the porch, looking through the trees at the garden beyond, and thinking what an appropriate background it would be for Judith's rare beauty. How he would like to lead her through the box maze and then sit beside her on the marble bench under the syringa bushes! If he could prevail upon the independent girl to listen to him, would his family receive her? Would it not be best for all concerned if he could forget Judith? Anyhow, he would not try to see her again, and he would soon be settled in Louisville, making only occasional visits home. Life looked dreary to Jeff.



CHAPTER XVII

Uncle Billy Makes a Call

Judith and her mother were also the victims of the morning after. Mrs. Buck was pale and listless, complaining of shortness of breath, while Judith felt it impossible to accomplish the many duties she had planned for Saturday forenoon.

"The truth of the matter is I can't stop dancing. If I only had some quick music I could work to it. I wonder if Cinderella swept the hearth clean the morning after the ball. Mumsy, do you think the prince was there last night?" she asked.

"Prince! What prince?"

"Oh, just any old prince! Prince Charming! I think—in fact I am sure—I liked my Cousin Jeff Bucknor better than any of the men who danced with me."

"Now, Judith, please don't start up that foolishness. Jeff Bucknor may dance with you because everybody else wanted to, but he would be very much astonished if he heard you calling him cousin."

"Well, he heard me last night, but he started it. He wanted to boss me, because he said he was my nearest of kin. I just laughed at him and called out, 'Good-bye, Cousin!' Mr. Big Josh Bucknor almost claimed kin with me, too. Wouldn't it be funny, Mumsy, if all of them got to doing it? It would be kind of nice to have some kinfolks who knew they were kin. I know you think I am conceited, but somehow I believe the men would be more pleased about it than the women. Maybe the women are afraid I'd take to visiting them like poor Cousin Ann!"

"Humph! Cousin Ann indeed!"

"But, Mumsy, she was real cousinish last night. There was a look in her eyes that made me feel that she was almost claiming relationship. She squeezed my hand in the quadrille, and when she came up to speak to me after the darling old men let the cat out of the bag about its being my debut party she was very near to kissing me."

"Well, I don't hold much to kissing strangers."

Mother and daughter were on the side porch, engaged in various household duties, while this desultory discussion was going on. Suddenly there appeared at the corner of the house old Uncle Billy. In his hand he carried a small package wrapped in newspaper. He bowed and bowed, wagging his head like a mechanical toy.

"You mus' 'scuse me, ladies, fer a walkin' up on you 'thout no warnin', but I got a little comin' out gif fer the young lady, if she don't think ol' Billy air too bold an' resumtious. It air jes' a bit er jewilry what air been, so's ter speak, in my fambly fer goin' on a hun'erd or so years. Ol' Mis, the gran'maw er my Miss Ann—Miss Elizabeth Bucknor as was—gib it to ter my mammy fer faithfulness in time er stress. It were when smallpox done laid low the white folks an' my mammy nuss 'em though the trouble when ev'ybody, white and black, wa' so scairt they runned off an' hid."

"Why, Uncle Billy, I think you are too lovely to give it to me. But you ought to keep it."

"Well, it ain't ever been much use ter me, seein' as I can't wear a locket, but I reckon you mought hang it roun' yo' putty neck sometime."

He took off the newspaper wrapping, disclosing a flat velvet box much rubbed and soiled. Touching a spring the lid flew open, disclosing a large cameo of rare and intricate workmanship, with a gold filigree border and gold back.

"I'd like ter give it ter you, if you won't be a thinkin' it's free-niggerish of me."

"Why, I think it is perfectly lovely of you. It is a beautiful locket—the most beautiful I ever saw. See, Mumsy, I can put it on my little gold chain."

"No doubt!" Mrs. Buck looked distrustfully at Billy, but the old man held himself so meekly and his manner was so respectful that her heart was somewhat softened.

"You sho' air got a pleasant place here. I allus been holdin' th'ain't no place so peaceful an' homelike as a shady side po'ch, with plenty er scrubbery an' chickens a scratchin' under 'em. I'd be proud to have a po'ch er my own, with a box er portulac a bloomin' in front er it an' plenty er nice red jewraniums sproutin' 'roun' in ol' mattersies cans—but, you see, me'n Miss Ann air allus on the jump—what with all the invites we gits ter visitate."

"Let me show you what a nice vegetable garden I have planted, Uncle Billy, and what a lovely well we have, with the coldest water in the county. Maybe you would like a drink of cold water, or perhaps you would like some fresh buttermilk. I have just churned and the buttermilk is splendid," said Judith.

"Thankee, thankee kindly, missy! I's a great han' fo' buttermilk." The old man followed Judith to the dairy and watched with admiring eyes as she dipped the creamy beverage from the great stone jar and poured it into a big glass mug.

"This was Grandfather Buck's mug. He liked to drink buttermilk from it, but he always called it a schooner. That was his house, back there. He never lived in it after Grandfather Knight died, so my mother tells me, but we always have called it his house. It still has his furniture in it, but nobody stays there."

"I hearn my Miss Ann a talkin' bout yo' fambly not so long ago. She say the Bucks an' Bucknors were one an' the same in days gone by but one er yo' forebears done mislaid the tail en' of his name. But Miss Ann say that don't make no mind ter her—that you is of one blood jes' the same. She even done up an' state that you air as clost kin ter her as the Buck Hill folks air. She air allus been a gret han' for geology an' tracin' back whar folks comed from."

"She—she didn't tell you to tell me that, did she, Uncle Billy?" Judith looked piercingly at the old man. He tried to say Miss Ann knew he was going to tell the girl of their kinship but her clear gaze confused him.

"Well, well, no'm, she didn't 'zactly tell me, but—No'm, she don't even know I done come a' callin'. She jes' thinks I'm out a exercisin' of Puck an' Coopid. Them's the names er my hosses."

"Perhaps she would not like your telling me this," persisted Judith.

"Well, missy, if you ain't a mindin' I believe I'll arsk you not ter mention what I done let slip. I ain't ter say sho' what the fambly air gonter do 'bout the matter. I done hear tell they air gonter hab a meetin' er the whole bilin' an' decide."

"Do!" fired Judith. "They will do nothing. You can tell them for me that I don't give a hang whether they want to claim kin with me or not. They did not have the making of me and I am what I am regardless of them. I know perfectly well that I am descended from the same original Bucknors but I'm glad my ancestor mislaid part of the name and I wouldn't have the last syllable back for anything in the world."

"Yassum!" gasped Billy.

"Uncle Billy, I didn't mean to be cross with you," laughed Judith, her anger gone as quickly as it had come, "but it does rile me for the family to think themselves so important and to feel they can have a meeting and make me kin to them or not as they please."

Billy, mounted on Cupid and leading Puck, rode slowly off. He wagged his great beard and talked solemnly to himself.

"Well now, you ol' fool nigger, you done broke yo' 'lasses pitcher. Whe'fo' you so nimble-come-trimble ter tell little missy 'bout the fambly confab? 'Cause you done hearn Marse Big Josh 'sputin' with Marse Bob Bucknor at the ball consarnin' the Bucks an' Bucknors ain't no reason whe'fo' you gotta be so bigity. Ain't yo' mammy done tell you, time an' agin, that ain't no flies gonter crawl in a shet mouf? All you had ter do wa' ter go an' give Miss Judy Buck the trinket an' kinder git mo' 'quainted an', little by little, git her ter look at things yo' way. You could er let drop kinder accidental like that she wa' kinfolks 'thout bein' so 'splicit. She done got her back up now an' I ain't a blamin' her. She sho' did put me in min' er my Miss Ann when she wa' a gal, the way she hilt up her haid an' jawed back at the fambly. An' she would er talked the same way if Marse Big Josh an' Marse Little Josh an' Marse Bob Bucknor theyselves had 'a' been there an' all the women folk besides. That little gal ain't feared er nobody. She done tol' me ter say she wouldn't have back that extry syllabub on her name fer nothin'. I reckon if I'd tell Marse Jeff that he'd go up in the air for fair. But this nigger is done talkin'—done talkin'."

He rode on, his brown old face furrowed with trouble. His bowed legs stuck out comically and the long tails of his blue coat spread themselves out on Cupid's broad back.

"An' that putty little cabin in the back, with po'ch an' all, an' little missy done say it got furnisher in it too," he murmured plaintively.



CHAPTER XVIII

A Cavalier O'erthrown

The house party departed and Buck Hill settled into normalcy. Jeff had tried very hard to be what Mildred had expected him to be for the last few days. He had even said tender nothings to Jean Roland and expressed an eager desire to see her in Louisville, where she was to visit before returning to Detroit. So flattering was his manner that the girl forgave him for his inattention during her stay at Buck Hill and was all smiles at the parting.

The guests who did not leave by automobile took the noon trolley to Louisville. Among the latter was Tom Harbison. Mildred had rather hoped he would stay over Sunday at Buck Hill. He pleaded an engagement, however, but with melting eyes declared he would soon be back.

Jeff heaved a great sigh of relief when they were all gone, especially Miss Jean Roland. What a nuisance black-headed girls were, anyhow! He began to wonder what Judith was doing. Was she wearied after the ball? Was she on the road in her little blue car selling toilet articles? Would she feed the motormen and conductors, in spite of having been up until morning? Of course she would! Judith was not the kind of girl to fail in an undertaking and to let men go hungry.

"Half past five! She furnishes dinner for the men on the six-thirty. I wonder what she is giving them to-day?" Jeff smiled when he remembered how Judith had satisfied Nan's impertinent curiosity concerning what was in her basket. "I've a great mind to find out. Foolishness! I'll do nothing of the sort." The young man tried to lose himself in the intricate plot of a detective story but he had to confess he was not half so much interested in the outcome of the tale as he was in what Judith was to carry in her basket.

"I'll go help her lift the heavy load on the trolley," he decided, slinging aside the stupid book and starting across the meadows to the trolley station. He must traverse the broad acres of Buck Hill to the dividing line of Judith's mother's farm, then through a swampy creek bottom, up a hill to the grove of old beech trees, and then down to the trolley track.

"Can't make it! There's the whistle blowing for the next station," he said as he reached the grove. He stopped and, leaning against the smooth trunk of a great beech, looked out across the fields. There was Judith in a blue dress, standing on the little platform, a cooler of buttermilk in one hand, swinging it as before as a signal to the approaching trolley. She wore no hat and her hair shone like spun gold.

"I'll wait here for her and maybe I can persuade her to sit down a minute and talk to me." Lazily he settled himself on a mossy bank, leaning against the friendly trunk.

The trolley car stopped. Eager hands were ready to receive the heavy cooler and laden basket. Only one passenger—a man—alighted and then the car sped on. Judith picked up the basket of empty dishes and milk can that had been deposited on the platform and turned to follow the path homeward. Jeff sprang to his feet, meaning to hasten to her and relieve her of her burden, when his intention was changed by seeing the man who had just alighted from the trolley walk quickly to her side.

The beech grove was too far off for Jeff to hear what was said but he could plainly see the couple, although not discernible to them because of the dense shade of the beeches. It was a shock to him to recognize the man as Tom Harbison. What was he doing back again when he had told Mildred he had an important engagement? Was his engagement with Judith Buck? She had not looked as though she expected anyone as she stood swinging her cooler. But then one can never tell. Young men don't go gallivanting after girls unless they are encouraged. On the other hand, what encouragement had Judith given him, Jeff Bucknor? None!

However, Tom Harbison certainly had no right to play fast and loose with his sister, Mildred. Jeff tried to persuade himself that his anger against Tom was solely the righteous anger of a brother.

Judith and her cavalier followed the path that led directly to the beech grove. Jeff Bucknor again seated himself on the mossy bank and watched their approach. He was totally unconscious of his own invisibility. Again he felt extreme annoyance with Tom Harbison because of his protecting manner. Anyone might have surmised the fields were full of raging bulls, vicious rams or wild boars, judging from Tom's solicitude for Judith's safety. Tenderly he assisted the active girl up the hill. Just as they got within earshot of Jeff, who was endeavoring to calm himself sufficiently to meet the couple with some appearance of equanimity, Judith paused.

"Now, Mr. Harbison, I appreciate very much your kindness in wishing to help me with this basket of dishes, which is not at all heavy, but I think you had much better go directly to your friends at Buck Hill. That path to the left will take you through the gap and over the meadow. I go to the right."

"Ah, but I am not going to Buck Hill this evening. I came back to Ryeville only to see you. I told you, my beauty, that I was going to. Don't you remember?"

"I am not your beauty and I do not remember."

"Well, I did and I have and you are."

"Maybe you have but I am not. I bid you good evening, Mr. Harbison. Give me my basket."

"No, no! Not so fast! You don't understand, my dearest girl. I really have come up here to see you and a fellow doesn't take that beastly ride twice in one day without some reward. Come on, like the peach that you resemble, and sit down here in this grove of trees with me. I tell you, honey, I'm loving you good and right."

"Nonsense! You don't know me and besides I have no time to sit down as I have two more trolley cars to meet with hot suppers for the motormen. Give me my basket! I must hurry home. I cannot let my customers go hungry."

"But I am hungry for love," cried Tom, seizing the hand Judith had stretched out for her basket. In the other hand she carried the empty milk can. Up to this time the girl had been half laughing. She was evidently amused by the gallantries of Tom and had met his advances with badinage, thinking he was in jest. However, when he grasped her hand and attempted to draw her towards him, she grew angry.

"Let me go, Mr. Harbison. You are forgetting yourself."

"I am not forgetting myself. I am just remembering myself. Here I have been in the same neighborhood with you for days and never once have I had so much as a kiss. Please! Please!" He caught the resisting Judith to him.

Tom was making a fool of himself and no doubt he would have realized it had he known that another man was hearing his pleading. Jeff on the other hand was so conscious of himself that he had not realized, until Harbison plunged into the frantic love-making, that the couple were not aware of his presence. Under the circumstances, what should he do? He certainly could not beat up a man for asking a beautiful girl to sit down in the shade of a beech tree with him, especially since he had meant to do that very thing himself had not Tom got there ahead of him. Should he make his presence known? Did Judith need his help?

The scene progressed so rapidly that before Jeff could make up his mind exactly what he should do Judith raised her empty milk can and gave the persistent Tom such a whack on the side of his head that the cavalier dropped the basket of china and, losing his balance, fell and rolled down the hill.

Evidently Judith did not need anyone's help. Tom picked himself up ruefully. Without a word he retraced the path he had so blithely taken a moment before and, hearing the outgoing trolley whistling for the station, he speeded up and boarded the car for Louisville.

Then Judith proceeded to sit down by her basket of broken china and burst into tears.

"Oh, my dear, my dear!" cried Jeff, no longer uncertain of what he should do. "Don't! Please don't! I wish I had wrung his neck."

"You! Where did you come from?" gasped Judith. "I didn't see you. You needn't think I am crying because—because—"

"Because you have been insulted?"

"No. I'm just so miserable because last night I was so happy, and all day I have been happy and now I am not." She looked like a little girl who had just found out her doll was stuffed with sawdust.

"Look at my dishes! As long as they had to be broken I wish I might have had the pleasure of hitting that man with them instead of making a dent in my perfectly good milk cooler." She laughed and began picking up the pieces of china.

Was this the staid young lawyer who had determined to see no more of this red-haired girl—to nip in the bud any feeling he might have developed for her? Was this the same man, running down dale and up hill with a basket of broken china on his arm, while the red-haired girl chased on ahead with an empty milk can, running to make up for lost time and not be late with the motormen's supper? He must wait and help Judith carry the basket. She had no time to wrangle with him about whether he should or should not wait. Supper was cooked but it must be packed properly and the finishing touches put to it. Mrs. Buck was wandering around the kitchen making futile attempts to help. Jeff, who was sitting outside on a bench under the syringa bushes, could hear her querulous drawl and Judith's quick, good-natured replies.

"Never mind the china, Mumsy. Some of the pieces can be used as soap dishes and some maybe we can mend. I'll tell you all about how it happened some day but now I must hurry. There's a young man waiting in the back yard to help me carry my basket. If you look out the side window you can see who it is, but don't let him see you peeping."

Then there was the mad race back to the station. There was no time or breath for talk. They reached the platform several minutes before the seven o'clock trolley.

"Heavens! I came mighty near forgetting what I came all the way from Buck Hill to find out," declared Jeff.

"And what was that?"

"I got to wondering what you would have in your baskets this evening."

"Ham croquettes, buttered beets, potato salad and hot muffins. Blackberry dumpling for dessert!" Judith smiled, as she chanted the menu.



CHAPTER XIX

Miss Ann Moves On

The Bucknors of Buck Hill were going abroad. It was all settled and they were to start as soon as necessary arrangements could be made. The plan had been born in Mildred's mind and she had influenced her mother, who in turn had persuaded her husband and now passage was engaged and it was only a matter of a few weeks before they would sail.

It had all come about because Jeff had felt in duty bound to inform his sister that Tom Harbison had come back to Ryeville with the intention of calling on another girl, and that girl Judith Buck.

"I always said she was a forward minx," stormed Mildred.

"Right forward with her milk can," laughed Jeff, and then he told of Tom's rebuff and of the blow he had received instead of the kiss he demanded. "He's not worthy of you, little sister, and you must not bother your head about him," said Jeff.

But Mildred did worry and sulk and feel miserable. Tom had made more impression on Mildred's heart than Jeff had dreamed possible. The girl was suffering from blighted affections as well as mortification—both of which no doubt would be dispelled by the European trip.

Jeff was to settle in Louisville and the home would be closed, with Aunt Em'ly as caretaker. But what was to become of Cousin Ann?

"We can't leave until her visit with us is completed," objected Mr. Bucknor.

"But, my dear, her visit to us will never be finished, unless we cut it short," sighed Mrs. Bucknor.

"Let her go visit some of the others," suggested Nan, "She's needing a change by this time anyhow."

"We must not be unclannish," admonished Mr. Bucknor. "Blood is—"

"Well, mine is not," interrupted Mildred. "I'm just fed up on all of this relationship business. Old Cousin Ann isn't very close kin to us anyhow, if you stop and think. She wasn't even more than a third cousin to Grandfather Bucknor, and when it comes down to us she is so far removed it wouldn't count if we lived anywhere but in Kentucky or maybe Virginia. I thought you were going to have a meeting and come to some conclusion about Cousin Ann."

"So we are! So we are! I have been talking to Big Josh lately about it. Quite a problem! Big Josh does nothing but talk and laugh and we never get anywhere. However, we are going to have a gathering of the clan to-morrow in Ryeville and I shall bring up the subject."

"Well, don't let them persuade you to give up our trip just to have old Cousin Ann have a place to visit. We've had more than our share of her already. If she had a spark of delicacy she would go now and not wait until we are all upset with packing and all. I know you have not told her that we are going abroad, but you know she snoops around enough to have heard us talking. I bet she knows what our plans are as well as we know ourselves."

Mildred was right. Miss Ann did know the plans of her host and hostess. With windows and doors wide open and a whole family freely discussing their trip, it would have been difficult for one who retained the sense of hearing not to be aware that something was afoot. Miss Ann had heard and had determined to move on, but to which relation should she go? The faithful Billy was called in consultation.

"Billy, you have heard?"

"Yes, Miss Ann, I done hearn. I couldn't help a hearin' with niggers as full of it as whites."

"I wonder why they did not talk openly to me of their plans."

"Well, I reckon they's kinder shy, kase me'n you's a visitin'. I 'low we's gotter move on, Miss Ann." The old man's face was drawn with woe. "I kinder felt it a bad sign when Marse Jeff Bucknor up'n took hisse'f off to Lou'ville, an' now this talk 'bout the fambly a goin' ter furren parts an' a shuttin' up Buck Hill. Th'ain't no good gonter come of it—but howsomever we's gotter pack up an' leave."

"But where are we going, Billy? Cousin Big Josh—"

"Lawsamussy, Miss Ann, please don't mention that there domercile! Our ca'ige ain't good fer that trip. That lane would be the endin' er us-all. Don't you reckon we'd better rise an' shine to-morrow?"

"Yes, Billy, but where? There's Cousin Little Josh and Cousin Sue and Cousin Tom and Philip Throckmorton and Cousin David's oldest daughter, whose married name has escaped me, but she is living in Jefferson County. Could the horses go so far?"

"Miss Ann, I ain't so sho' 'bout the ca'ige, but I reckon if you don't hurry Cupid an' Puck none they's got a lot er go in them yet. I hear tell Miss Milly an' the two young ladies air a' contemplatin' a trip in ter Lou'ville in the mawnin' an' I done hear Marse Bob say he wa' a' gonter spen' the day in Ryeville with some er the kin folks, eatin' at the hotel. I 'low they'll git a right airly start."

"Exactly! Well, so will we, Billy. As soon as they are gone we will go too."

Miss Ann rather liked to make a mystery of her departure. One of her idiosyncrasies was that she seldom divulged the name of her next host to her last one. She would depart as suddenly as she had arrived, leaving a formal note of farewell if the head of the house happened to be away or asleep. She liked to travel early in the morning.

"Where are we going, Billy?" Miss Ann's voice was tremulous and her eyes were misty.

"Now, Miss Ann, s'pose you jes' leave that ter ol' Billy an' the hosses. We's gonter git somewhar an' they ain't no use'n worryin' whar. You go down an' set on the po'ch an' I'll pack yo' things an' I'll do it as good as anybody an' we'll crope out'n here in the mawnin' befo' Marse Bob an' Miss Milly's dus' air settled on the pike. I ain't a worryin' 'bout but one thing an' that is that a ol' dominicker hen air took ter settin' on the flo' er our coach an' I'm kinder hatin' ter 'sturb her when she feels so nice an' homelike. I reckon I kin lif her out kinder sof' an' maybe she kin hatch jes the same. She ain't got mo'n a day er so ter go."

"Billy, I am sorry to leave the neighborhood without seeing that lovely girl—the one who sent me the gift and to whom the ball was tendered. She is in reality my kinswoman. I have been tracing the relationship and find she is the same kin as my cousins here at Buck Hill—the young people I mean. I am sorry I did not tell her so."

"Yassum! Maybe some day you kin claim kin with her. I reckon she would be glad an' proud ter be cousins ter you, Miss Ann."

Billy had never told his mistress of his visit to Judith. That young person had impressed him as being not at all proud of being of the same blood as the Bucknors, or in the least desirous of claiming the relationship. "But she wa'n't speakin' er my Miss Ann," he said to himself.

Silently and swiftly old Billy packed his mistress's belongings. Every trunk, suitcase and telescope was in readiness for an early flitting. As he had boasted, they were starting almost before the dust raised by the departing car of Mr. and Mrs. Bucknor had settled.

"Hi, what you so nimble-come-trimble 'bout this mawnin'?" asked Aunt Em'ly, as she met Billy laden with baggage, sneaking out the back way, planning to load his coach before hitching up.

"Miss Ann an' me is done got a invite ter a house pawty an' we air gonter hit the pike in the cool er the mawnin'."

"Wha' you goin'?"

"Heaben when we die," was all Billy would divulge.

"Miss Milly an' Marse Bob ain't said nothin' 'bout Miss Ann leavin'. Fac' is Miss Milly lef' word fer me ter dish up a good dinner fer Miss Ann whilst they wa' away an' serve it on a tray bein' as she wa' all alone."

"Well, I 'low we'll be settin' down in the dinin'-room at the house pawty come dinner time," declared the old man, veiled insolence in his tone.

"What I gonter tell Marse Bob an' Miss Milly when they axes wha' Miss Ann done took herself?"

"I ain't consarned with what you tells 'em. My Miss Ann air done writ a letter ter Miss Milly an' if you ain't got a lie handy you kin jes' han' her the billy dux."

"I allus been holdin' ter it an' I'll give it ter you extry clarified, you's a mean nigger man—mean an' low lifed. I axes you, politeful like, wha' you an' Miss Ann a goin' an' all you kin give me is sass." Aunt Em'ly was full of curiosity and was greatly irritated not to have her curiosity satisfied. But Billy was adamant and Miss Ann more dignified than usual, as she doled out her small tips—all the poor old lady could afford, but presented to the servants whenever she departed with the air of royalty.

"Well, skip-ter-ma-loo, she's gone agin!" laughed Aunt Em'ly, as she stood with Kizzie and watched the old coach rolling down the avenue. "I reckon Marse Bob's gonter be right riled that I can't tell him wha' she goin' but you couldn't git nothin' outer that ol' Billy with an ice pick. I laid off ter ax Miss Ann herself but when she come a sailin' down the steps like she done swallowed the poker an' helt out this here dime ter me like it wa' a dollar somehow she looked kinder awesome an' I couldn't say nothin' but 'Thanky!' Kizzie, did you notice which-away the coach took when they reached the pike?"

"I think it went up the road to'ds Marse Big Josh's," said Kizzie, "but the dus' air pow'ful thick right now, owin' ter ortermobiles goin' both ways, so I ain't quite sho'."

"I wa' pretty night certain ol' Billy p'inted his hosses' heads to'ds Ryeville, but I ain't sho'. It air sech a misty, moisty mornin' an' what with the dus' it air hard ter punctuate. I reckon you's right, Kizzie, an' they's hit the pike fer Marse Big Josh's. Anyhow we'll say that when Marse Bob axes us. If you tells one tale an' I tells anudder Marse Bob'll be mad as a wet hen."

The old coach, creaking ominously, lumbered and rolled down the avenue. The bees, with their front door blocked by the corn cob, hummed furiously. Miss Ann, ensconced behind the barricade of luggage, gazed out on the rolling meadows of Buck Hill and thought bitterly of the old days when devoted cavaliers accompanied her coach, eager to escort her on her journey and vying with one another for a smile from the careless girl within.

She tried to remember the intervening years but could not. She was a beautiful young girl, sought after, welcomed everywhere. Then she was an old woman, unloved, unwelcome, nobody wanting her, nobody loving her. She did not know where Billy was driving her. She did not care. The old man had taken matters into his own hands and no doubt he would leave the decision to Cupid and Puck. She put her head against the upholstered back of the seat and dozed. The morning air came sweet and fresh across the blue-grass meadows. She had a dream, vague and uncertain, but in some unexpected and shadowy way she was happy. She awoke and dozed again. Again a sweet dream of peace and contentment.

The horses came to a standstill. Miss Ann awoke with a start. She did not know whether she had slept moments or hours. Billy had opened the door and was saying: "Miss Ann, we done arriv!" and then he began to unpack his beloved mistress.



CHAPTER XX

A Heart-warming Welcome

"Mumsy, here comes Cousin Ann!"

"There you are at it again, Judith. I say shame on you for calling people cousin who don't even know they are related."

"Anyhow, here comes Cousin Ann!"

"Comes where? Along the pike? I don't see that that is anything to get excited over."

"But it is not along the pike. She is coming here—here in our home. Old Billy has stopped the horses and is down off his box and has opened the door and is unpacking the luggage. After a little while he will come to Cousin Ann.

"Do you know what that means, Mumsy? It means that we are to be taken into the bosom of the family, as it were. Cousin Ann only visits relations. I reckon I'm a snob but I can't help being glad that I am to belong. I won't let anybody but you know that, Mumsy, but I'm going to be just as nice and kind to poor Cousin Ann as can be. You will too, won't you, dear Mumsy?"

"Well, I guess I know how to treat company," bridled Mrs. Buck.

Miss Ann sat, dazed and wondering, while Billy pulled out the luggage and piled it up by the white picket fence. She did not know where the old coachman had brought her. She wondered vaguely if it could be the home of Cousin David's oldest daughter whose married name had escaped her. Could she have slept a whole day?

Suddenly a red-haired girl in a blue dress came running down the walk and before Billy could get his mistress unpacked this girl had sprung into the coach and putting her arms around Miss Ann's neck kissed her first on one cheek and then on the other.

"Mother and I are real glad to see you and we hope you and Uncle Billy will stay with us just as long as you are comfortable and happy," said Judith. "Howdy, Uncle Billy!"

"Howdy, missy!" Great tears were coursing down the old brown face.

"The guest chamber is all ready, except for being sheeted and that won't take me a minute. Just bring the things right in, Uncle Billy. Here, I'll help and then Miss Ann can get out."

"Cousin Ann, child! I am your Cousin Ann Peyton." Miss Ann spoke from the depths of the coach. And then Mrs. Buck, having hastily tied on a clean apron, came down the walk and was introduced to the visitor, greeting her with shy hospitality.

"I'm pleased to meet you. Judith and I'll be right glad of your company."

How long had it been since anybody had said that to Miss Ann? The old lady flushed with pleasure.

"You are my cousin-in-law, but I don't know your name."

"Prudence—Prudence Knight was my maiden name."

"Ah, then, Cousin Prudence! It is very kind of you and your daughter to greet me so cordially. I hope Billy and I will not be much trouble during our short stay with you. Are you certain it is convenient to have us?"

Now be it noted that in all of the long years of visiting Miss Ann Peyton had never before asked whether or not her coming was convenient. Hitherto she had simply come and stayed until it suited her to move on.

"Indeed it is convenient," cried Judith. "Mother and I are here all alone and we have loads of room."

When Mr. and Mrs. Ezra Knight broke up housekeeping in New England they moved every stick of furniture they possessed to their new home. This furniture had been in the family for generations. There were old highboys of polished mahogany and chaste design, four-poster beds and gate-legged tables, a Sheraton sideboard and Chippendale chairs, a claw-footed secretary with leaded glass doors and secret drawers. There were hooked rugs and patchwork quilts of intricate and wonderful design, hand woven bedspreads of a blue seldom seen and Chinese cabinets and strange grotesque brasses, no doubt brought to New England by the Norse sailor man who had left his mark on the family according to Mrs. Buck.

Miss Ann Peyton felt singularly at home from the moment she entered the front door. The guest chamber, where old Dick Buck had made it convenient to spend the last years of his life, was so pleasant one hardly blamed the old man for establishing himself there. A low-pitched room it was, with windows looking out over the meadow and furnished with mahogany so rare and beautiful it might have graced a museum.

"Now, Cousin Ann, please make yourself absolutely at home. If you want to unpack immediately there is a dandy closet here, and here is a wardrobe and here is a highboy and here a bureau. Uncle Billy can take your trunks to the attic when you empty them. I wish I could help you, but Mumsy and I are up to our necks canning peaches and we can't stop a minute. If you want to come help peel we'd be delighted. We are on the side porch and it is lovely and cool out there," and Judith was gone.

Help peel peaches! Why not? Miss Ann smiled. Nobody ever asked her to help. It was a new experience for her. She decided not to unpack immediately, but donned an apron and hastened to the side porch.

It was pleasant there. Mrs. Buck was peeling laboriously, anxious not to waste a particle of fruit. She stopped long enough to get a paring knife and bowl for the visitor.

"Judith has gone to show your servant where to put the carriage and horses and then to open up the house in the back for him. It was the old house the Bucks had before my father bought this place—a good enough house with furniture in it. Judith gives it a big cleaning now and then and I reckon the old man can move right in."

Old Billy was in the seventh heaven of delight. A stable for Cupid and Puck, with plenty of good pasture land, a carriage house for the coach, shared with Judith's little blue car, but best of all, a house for himself!

"A house with winders an' a chimbly an' a po'ch wha' I kin sot cans er jewraniums an' a box er portulac! I been a dreamin' 'bout sech a house all my life, Miss Judy. Sometimes when I is fo'ced ter sleep in the ca'ige, when Miss Ann an' me air a visitin' wha' things air kinder crowded like, I digs me up a little flower an' plants it in a ol' can an' kinder makes out my coachman's box air a po'ch. Miss Judy, it air a sad thing ter git ter be ol' an' wo' out 'thout ever gittin' what you wanted when you wa' young an' spry."

"Yes, Uncle Billy, I know how you feel, but now you have a little house and you can live in it as long as it suits you and grow all the flowers you've a mind to. Nobody has lived in it for years and years but I used to play down here when I was a little girl and had time to play. Every now and then I give it a good cleaning, though, and you won't have to do much to start with."

It was a rough, two-roomed cabin, with shabby furniture, but it seemed like a palace to the old darkey.

"I reckon I'll put me up a red curtain," he sighed. "I been always a wantin' a red curtain, an' bless Bob, if they ain't already a row of skillets an' cookin' pots by the chimbly. I am moughty partial ter a big open fiah place wha' you kin make yo' se'f a ol' time ash cake."

"Can you cook, Uncle Billy?"

"Sho' I kin cook, but I ain't git much chanct ter cook, what with livin' roun' so much."

"Well, you can help me sometimes when I get pushed for time," and Judith told the old man of the task she had undertaken of feeding the motormen.

"Sholy! Sholy!" he agreed and then the thought came to him as it had to Miss Ann—When before had he been asked to help?

Judith found the two ladies busily engaged in paring peaches. She was amused to discover that Miss Ann was quicker than her mother and more expert. The old lady's fingers were nimble and dainty and she handled her knife with remarkable skill.

"My goodness! You go so fast I can begin to can," cried Judith. Miss Ann's face beamed with happiness as she watched her young cousin weighing sugar and fruit and then lighting the kerosene stove which stood behind a screen in the corner of the porch.

Judith kept up a lively chatter as she sterilized glass jars and dipped out the cooked fruit. Miss Ann worked faster and faster and even Mrs. Buck hurried in spite of herself. Uncle Billy's amazement was ludicrous when he came upon his mistress making one of this busy family group. But in an instant the old man was helping, too.

The morning was gone but the peaches were all canned, the table filled with amber-colored jars. Billy must carry them to the storeroom and place them on the shelves. He ran back and forth looking like a little brown gnome and actually skipping with happiness. Miss Ann smiled contentedly while Mrs. Buck gathered up the peach skins and stones which she had saved with a view to making marmalade, although Judith assured her that the peach crop was so big that year there would be no use in such close economy.

"Now, we'll have luncheon and then everybody must take a nap," commanded Judith and everybody was very glad to, after the strenuous morning's work, but first Billy slipped out to the carriage house and pulled the corn cob out of the bumble bees' hole.

"There now, you po' critters! I reckon you kin call this home too an' jes' buzz aroun' all you'se a min' ter," the old man whispered happily.



CHAPTER XXI

The Clan In Conclave

Mr. Bob Bucknor was troubled. He had always prided himself on keeping an open house for his relations and to him Cousin Ann was a kind of symbol of consanguinity. He paid very little attention to her as a rule, except to be scrupulously polite. He had been trained in politeness to Cousin Ann from his earliest childhood and had endeavored to bring his own children up with the same strict regard to hospitality and courtesy to his aged relative. His son had profited by his teaching and was ever kindly to the old lady, but his daughters had rebelled, and it could not be denied were even openly rude to the chronic visitor. Now this project of European travel was afoot and the problem of what to do with Cousin Ann must be settled. The masculine representatives of the family were meeting in Ryeville and the matter was soon under discussion.

"It's the women," declared Big Josh. "They are kicking like steers and they say they won't stand for her any longer."

"My wife says she has got a nice old cousin who would like to come and stay with us, and that she does all the darning wherever she stays and looks after the children besides. Nobody ever heard of Cousin Ann turning a hand to help anybody," said Little Josh.

"Well, I fancy you have heard the news that I am taking my wife and daughters abroad this month and I cannot keep the poor old lady any longer," sighed Bob Bucknor.

"Sure, Bob, we think you've had too much of her already," said Sister Sue's husband, Timothy Graves, "but Sue says she can't visit with us any more. The children are big enough now to demand separate rooms and our house is not very large—not as large as it used to be somehow. In old days people didn't mind doubling up, but nobody wants to double up with Cousin Ann and her horses are a nuisance and that old Billy irritates the servants and—"

"My mother says an old ladies' home is the only thing for her," said David Throckmorton.

"So do all the women. But who's going to bell the cat?" asked Big Josh.

"I reckon we'll have to go in a body and speak in chorus," suggested Little Josh. It was thus decided, after much argument. All the cousins were willing to contribute something towards the support of the old lady, but nobody was willing or able to take her in his home.

"Of course, we must provide for old Billy, too."

"Of course!"

"Well, after dinner all of you ride out to Buck Hill and there wait on the poor old thing and together we can break the news to her. It's going to make me feel awfully bad," declared Mr. Bob Bucknor.

"I reckon we'll all feel bad, but none of us must weaken," blustered Big Josh. "And while we are discussing family matters, how about this talk about that pretty Miss Judith Buck being a cousin?"

"The women folk have settled that. At least mine have; and since we are the closest neighbors there at Buck Hill—" began Bob Bucknor.

"You may be the closest neighbors, but you are not the closest kin. I'm for taking her into the clan. By golly, we haven't got too many pretty women in our family to be turning any down. I tell you, I'm going to call on her. Owe her a party call anyhow." Thus rumbled Big Josh.

"Better not," warned Mr. Bob Bucknor and then, since the clan were having dinner at the hotel where "you could" and a feeling of good cheer had begun to permeate the diners, Mr. Bucknor proceeded to tell the story, of course in the strictest confidence, about Tom Harbison and the milk can, all of which went to convince others beside Big Josh that Judith might prove a valuable acquisition to the family.

"I reckon she's coped with worse than our women," said Little Josh. "With poverty staring her in the face and old Dick Buck for a grandfather, she's kept her head up and made a living and got a tidy bank account, so I hear. All by herself, too! I think I'll call when you do, Big Josh, but I'll fight shy of the milk cans."

So it was voted that Judith was to be received into the family, Mr. Bob Bucknor making a mental reservation that he would not divulge the news to his wife and daughters until they were well out of Kentucky. He had strong hopes that European travel might soften the hearts of his daughters towards their pretty, red-haired cousin and neighbor.

"While we've got a little Dutch courage left, let's go on out to Buck Hill and tackle Cousin Ann," said Big Josh. "Now remember, all at once and nobody backing out and coughing. Everybody speak up strong and all together."

A handsome family of men they were, taken all in all—handsome and prosperous, good citizens, honorable, upright, courageous—but this thing of deliberately getting together to inform a poor old woman that no longer would their several homes be ready to receive her made them seem to themselves anything but admirable.

"Darn the women folks, I say!" rumbled Big Josh. "If they weren't so selfish and bent on their own pleasure we would not have to be doing this miserable thing."

"Perhaps if we had helped them a little with Cousin Ann they wouldn't be kicking so," humbly suggested Little Josh.

"Help them! Help them! How in Pete's name could we help them any more? I am sure I have allowed Cousin Ann to give me a lamp mat every Christmas since I was born and my attic is full of her hoop skirts." A smile went the rounds and Big Josh subsided.

Buck Hill never looked more hospitable or attractive, as the cousins speeded up the driveway—two cars full of Kentucky blue blood. The gently rolling meadows dotted with grazing cattle, the great friendly beech trees on the shaven lawn, the monthly roses in the garden, the ever-blooming honeysuckle clambering over the summer-house seemed to cry out, "Welcome to all!"

"Gee! Poor Cousin Ann!" muttered one. "No wonder she likes to stay here."

An unwonted silence fell on the group, as they tiptoed up the front walk. They could not have said why they walked so quietly, but had they been called on to serve as pall bearers to their aged relative they would not have entered into the duty with any greater solemnity.

Aunt Em'ly appeared at the front door.

"Lawsamussy, Marse Bob, you done give me a turn," she gasped, bobbing a courtesy to the assembled gentlemen. "Is you done et?"

"Yes, yes, Aunt Em'ly, we have had dinner, but we should like to—"

"Yassir! I'll git the ice cracked in no time an' sen' Kizzie fer some mint."

"Not yet, Aunt Em'ly," faltered her master miserably. "A little later, perhaps, but now—"

"I know! You done had a po' dinner an' come home fer some 'spectable victuals. It ain't gonter take me long."

"Not at all, Aunt Em'ly, we had an excellent dinner, but now—"

"Call Miss Ann Peyton," blustered Big Josh. "Tell her her cousins all want to see her," and then he swelled his chest with pride. He for one wasn't going to back out.

"Miss Ann done gone," grinned Aunt Em'ly.

"Gone where?" they asked in chorus.

"Gawd knows! She an' ol' Billy an' the hosses done took theyselves off this mawnin' jes' 'bout five minutes after my white folks lef."

"Didn't she say where she was going?" asked Mr. Bucknor.

"She never said 'peep turkey!' ter man or beast. She lef' a dime fer me an' one fer Kizzie an' she went a sailin' out, an' although I done my bes' ter git that ol' Billy ter talk he ain't done give me no satisfaction, but jes' a little back talk, an' then he fotch hisself off, walkin' low an' settin' high an' I ain't seed hide or har of them since. Miss Ann done lef' a note fer you an' Miss Milly, though."

The note proved to be nothing more than Miss Ann's usual formal farewell and did not mention her proposed destination.

"By the great jumping jingo, I hope she didn't try my lane with her old carriage!" exclaimed Big Josh. "That lane, with the women in my family at the end of it, would be the undoing of poor old Cousin Ann. May I use your phone, Bob? I think I'll find out if she's there before I go home."

Every man rang up his home and every man breathed a sigh of relief when he found that Miss Ann had not arrived. Wild and varied were their surmises concerning where she had gone.

"This is the most disgraceful thing that ever happened in the family," declared Timothy Graves. "Of course I know I am only law-kin, but still I feel the disgrace."

"You needn't be so proud of yourself, Tim, because you were some kin already before you married Sister Sue," chided Brother Tom. "I can't see that you are not in on it too."

"That's what I said."

"Yes, but you said it because you really felt it in your favor that you were law-kin," put in Little Josh.

"Nonsense!"

"Come, come," pleaded Mr. Bob Bucknor, "rowing with each other isn't finding out where Cousin Ann has gone. Kizzie! Aunt Em'ly!" he shouted, "get that cracked ice and mint now. Come on, you fellows, and let's see if we can find any inspiration in the bottom of a frosted goblet."



CHAPTER XXII

A Great Transformation

It was unbelievable that a lumbering coach, with two fat horses, an old lady in a hoop skirt and a bow-legged coachman, could have disappeared from the face of the earth. Nevertheless, this seemed the case. Nobody knew where Cousin Ann had gone. Telephones were ringing into the night in vain attempts to trace the old lady. It had never made much difference to anyone before where Miss Ann had gone. For many years she had been leaving one relation's home and arriving at another's, and the comings and goings of Cousin Ann had created but a small ripple in family affairs. She had never deigned to say where next she intended to visit, so why now should the cousins be so disturbed over her whereabouts?

"I am so afraid something has happened to her," said Mr. Bob Bucknor. "I'll never forgive myself if Cousin Ann is in trouble, when I have literally driven her from my house."

"But, my dear, you have not driven her from your home," comforted his wife. "You had only intended to inform her that we were planning a trip abroad and she would have to visit somewhere else until arrangements could be made for her to be established in an old ladies' home. There was nothing cruel in that."

"Ah, but Cousin Ann is so proud and Buck Hill has always been a refuge for her."

The other cousins were likewise agitated. For Cousin Ann to have disappeared just as they were contemplating wounding her made them think that they had already wounded her. "Poor old lady!" was all they could say, and all of them said it until their women-folk were exceedingly bored with the remark.

Mr. Bob Bucknor determined to send for Jeff, if something definite was not heard of the missing cousin within the next twenty-four hours. He vaguely felt that it might be time for the law to step in and help in the search.

In the meantime Miss Ann was very happy in the house built by Ezra Knight; and Uncle Billy was even happier in the cabin built by the Bucks of old. The Peyton coach stood peacefully in the carriage house, with the bees buzzing sleepily, free to come and go in their subway nest somewhere under the back seat. Cupid and Puck wandered in the blue-grass meadow, content as though they had been put to graze in the Elysian fields.

The first night under the roof of her newly recognized cousins was a novel one for Miss Ann. She had gone to bed not in the least bored, but very tired—tired from actual labor. In the first place, she had helped wipe all the many dishes accumulated from the motormen's dinners and then put them away. That task completed, she had become interested in Judith's work of mounting photographs—an order lately received and one that must be rushed.

"Want to help?" Judith had asked, and soon deft old fingers were vying with young ones.

"Why, Cousin Ann, you have regular fairy fingers," said Judith, and the old lady had blushed with delight. They worked until the task was completed, while Mrs. Buck nodded over "Holy Living and Dying."

In the morning, when Judith made her early way to the kitchen, she found a fire burning briskly in the stove, the kettle ready to boil and the wood box filled. Uncle Billy, smiling happily, was seated in the doorway. Judith thanked him heartily and he assured her he liked to help white ladies, but didn't hold much to helping his own race.

"They's ongrateful an' proudified an' the mo' you holps 'em the mo' they shifts. Me'n Miss Ann has been visitin so long we ain't entered much inter housekeepin', but somehow we seem so sot an' statiumnary now that it comes nachul ter both er us ter len' a han'."

"That's nice," laughed Judith. "I do hope you and Cousin Ann and Cupid and Puck will all feel at home. I wish you would keep your eye open for a nice, respectable woman who could help me, now that I have so many dinners to serve to the trolley men."

"I sho' will—an', Miss Judy, I'm wonderin' if you ain't got a little bitser blue cloth what I mought patch my pants with. If my coattails wa'n't so long I wouldn't be fitten ter go 'mongst folks."

After some discussion with her mother, in which the girl tried to make Mrs. Buck see the difference between saving and hoarding, Judith finally produced for old Billy many leftovers of maternal and paternal grandfathers.

"Mumsy, you are a trump. Now, you see you saved these things so someone deserving could use them, but if they had stayed in the attic until the moths had eaten them up while old Billy went ragged then that would have been wasteful hoarding."

"I'm not minding so much about your Grandfather Buck's things, but somehow it seems a desecration for that old darkey to be wearing your Grandfather Knight's trousers."

"That's what makes me say you are a trump, Mumsy. I know you look upon those broadcloth pants as a kind of sacred trust, and I just love you to death for giving in about them."

"And my father was tall and straight of limb, too," wailed Mrs. Buck. "It seems worse because old Billy's legs are so short and crooked."

Crooked they may have been, but short they were not. By the time the broadcloth trousers traveled the circuitous route of the old man's legs everything came out even.

"Fit me like they was made fer me," he exclaimed, showing himself to Judith.

"Perhaps they were," mused Judith. "And now the coat!"

It was a rusty coat, long of tail and known at the time of its pristine glory as a "Prince Albert." Ezra Knight had kept it for funerals and other ceremonious occasions.

"Is there ary hat?"

There was—a high silk hat with a broad brim. Mrs. Buck rather thought it was one that had belonged to her grandfather and not her father. At any rate, it rested comfortably on Billy's cotton white wool.

"Now, Uncle Billy, trim your beard and nobody will know you," suggested Judith. So trim his beard he did, much to the improvement of his appearance.

"Reform number one!" said Judith to herself.

Miss Ann slept the sleep of industry that first night at the Bucks', and the sun was high when she opened her tired old eyes. She lay still for a moment, wondering where she was. This room was different from any of the other guest chambers she had occupied. There was a kind of austerity in the quaint old furniture that was lacking in the bedrooms where modern taste held sway. Nothing had been taken from or added to the Bucks' guest chamber since Grandmother Knight had reverently placed there her best highboy and her finest mahogany bed and candle stand. On the mantel was the model of a ship that tradition said the Norse sailor had carved, and on the walls steel engravings of Milton and Newton—Milton looking up at the stars seeking the proper rhymes, and Newton with eyes cast down searching out the power of gravity from the ground.

Miss Ann looked on her surroundings and smiled peacefully. She thought over the happenings of yesterday and again she realized that it was a pleasant thing to be wanted. There was a knock at the door. Billy, no doubt with hot water and maybe an early cup of coffee.

"Come in!"

It was Judith bearing a tray of breakfast.

"Not a bit of use in your getting up early, Cousin Ann, but every reason for you to have breakfast while it is fresh and hot, so I just brought it in to you. I often make my mother stay in bed for breakfast if she is not feeling very strong. There is nothing like starting the day with something in your tummy. It is a lovely day with a touch of autumn in the air. I do hope you slept."

Judith chattered on, ignoring the fact that Miss Ann was evidently embarrassed that she had been caught minus her wig. The girl opened wide the shutters, letting the sunlight stream into the room.

"Oh, Cousin Ann, what wonderful hair you have! Why it is like the driven snow and as soft as silk! Please, please let me arrange it for you sometimes. I don't know whether you ought to wear it piled on your head in coils and puffs, like a French beauty of way back yonder, or parted in the middle and waved on each side and drawn back into a loose knot."

"Oh, child, you can't think gray hair pretty."

"Why, it is the loveliest thing in the world. If I had hair like yours I'd never cover it up. You will let me try to dress it won't you? I just love to touch it," and Judith fondled one of the silvered plats.

"Yes," faltered the old lady. How long had it been since anyone but old Billy had complimented her? And when had anyone said her hair might be soft to the touch? Wigs do not last forever and Miss Ann had begun to realize that before many weeks a new one would be imperative. A new wig meant even greater scrimping than usual for Billy and his mistress. Funds must be very carefully handled when such an outlay became necessary. It was next in importance to a new horse, and greater than renewing a wheel on the coach. She had never dreamed that she might get along without a wig. She had begun wearing a wig many years ago, when her hair turned gray in spots. She had always considered dyed hair rather vulgar and so had resorted to a wig and, true to her character for keeping up a custom, she had never discarded the wig, although her hair had long since turned snow-white from root to end.

"Reform number two," Judith said to herself as she viewed her handiwork on Cousin Ann's hair. It was decided to part it in the middle and wave it on the sides and sweetly the old lady's face was framed in the soft, silver locks.

"You look different from yourself, but lovely," cried Judith. "You make me think of a young person trying to look old."

She might have added: "Instead of an old person trying to look young," but she did not.



CHAPTER XXIII

The Lost Is Found

Two days passed and still the Bucknor clan was in ignorance of the whereabouts of Cousin Ann. It had so happened that Judith had been busy at home and had not gone into Ryeville for several days and nobody had called at her home, although since the famous debut party the Bucks had many more visitors than formerly.

Cousin Ann could not have concealed herself from the world more effectually had she tried. Concealment was far from her thoughts, however. She had no idea that a hue and cry would be raised for her. The Fates, in the shapes of Billy, Cupid and Puck, had taken her destiny in hand and landed her with this golden girl, who wanted her and loved her and petted her and made her feel at home. Here she would stay. How long? She would not let herself dwell on that subject.

What the rest of the family would think of her claiming kin with the hitherto impossible Bucks made little difference to the old lady. She determined never to divulge that old Billy had engineered the visit, but intended, when the question came up with her kinsmen, to let it be understood that she, Ann Peyton, had ruled that Judith Buck belonged to the family and had as good a right to the name of Bucknor as any person bearing the name.

The old men of Ryeville were seated in tilted chairs on the hotel porch. The little touch of autumn in the air made it rather pleasant when the sun sought out their feet resting on the railing.

"What's this I hear about the disappearance of Miss Ann Peyton?" asked Major Fitch. "Someone told me that she has not been heard of now for several days and Bob Bucknor is just about having a fit over it. He and Big Josh are scouring the country for her, after having burnt up all the telephone wires in the county trying to locate her."

"It's true," chuckled Colonel Crutcher. "My granddaughter says Mildred Bucknor is raising a rumpus because her father is saying he can't go abroad until Cousin Ann is found. First, he can't go because the old lady is visiting him and now he can't go because she isn't visiting him."

"Well, a big, old ramshackledy rockaway like Miss Ann's, with a pair of horses fat enough to eat and the bow-leggedest coachman in Kentucky, to say nothing of Miss Ann herself with her puffy red wig and hoop skirts as wide as a barn door, couldn't disappear in a rat hole. They must be somewhere and they must have gone along the road to get where they were going. Certainly they haven't passed this way or we'd have seen them," said Judge Middleton.

"I hear tell Bob Bucknor has sent for Jeff to come and advise him," drawled Pete Barnes. "And I also hear tell that the Bucknor men were gettin' ready to let poor ol' Miss Ann know that she was due to settle herself in an ol' ladies' home. They were cookin' it up that day they all had dinner here last week."

"Yes, and what's more, I hear our Judy gal knocked that Tom Harbison down the hill with a milk bucket," laughed Pete. "I got it straight from Big Josh himself."

So the old men gossiped, basking in the autumn sunshine. They still quarreled over the outcome of the war between the states, but now they had a fresh topic of never-ending interest to discuss and that was their own debut party. Congratulations were ever in order on their extreme cleverness in giving the ball.

Pete Barnes was ever declaring, "It was my idee, though, my idee! And didn't we launch our little girl, though? I hear tell she is going to be asked to join the girls' club. That's a secret. I believe the girls are going to wait until Mildred and Nan Bucknor are on the rolling deep. As for the young men—they are worse than bears about a bee tree. Judy won't have much to do with them though. But you needn't tell me she doesn't like it."

"Sure she does. She's too healthy-minded not to like beaux. There she comes now! I can see her car way up the street—just a blue speck," cried Judge Middleton.

"Sure enough! There she is! She's got her mother in with her."

"That's not Mrs. Buck. Mrs. Buck always sits in Judy's car as though she were scared to death—and she hasn't white hair either."

"Hi, Miss Judy!"

"Hi, yourself!" and Judith stopped her car in front of the hotel.

"Boys, that's Miss Ann Peyton!" cried Major Fitch. "Miss Ann or I'll eat my hat!"

"She's already eaten her wig. No wonder we didn't know her! And she's left off her hoops!" cried the Judge.

The old men removed their feet from railing, dropped their chairs to all fours, sprang up and, standing in a row, made a low bow to the occupants of the little blue car. Then they trooped off the porch and gathered in a circle around the ladies.

"The last I heard of you, Miss Ann, was that you were lost," said Judge Middleton.

"Not a bit of it," declared Judith. "She is found."

"Yes—and I think I've found myself, too," said Miss Ann softly. "I am visiting my dear young cousin, Judith Buck."

"At my urgent invitation," explained Judith.

"I am staying on at her invitation, but I followed my usual habit and went uninvited," said the old lady firmly.

The old men listened in amazement. What was this? Miss Ann Peyton openly claiming relationship with old Dick Buck's granddaughter and riding around—minus wig and hoops—with the new-found cousin in a home-made blue car! Miss Ann was meek but happy.

"Well, I swan!" exclaimed Pete Barnes.

"What do you suppose he meant by saying they thought you were lost?" Judith asked on the way home from Ryeville. "Didn't they know you were coming to me?"

"No," faltered Miss Ann. "I seldom divulge where I intend to visit next. That is my affair," she added with a touch of her former hauteur—a manner she had discarded with the wig and hoop skirt. Wild horses could not drag from her the fact that she had not known herself where she was going.

"That's all right, Cousin Ann, but if you ever get tired of staying at my house I am going to be hurt beyond measure if you go off without telling me where you are going. Promise me you'll never treat me that way."

"I promise. I have never told the others because it has never made any difference to them."

When the blue car disappeared up the street the old men of Ryeville went into conference.

"Don't that beat bobtail?"

"Do you fellows realize that means our gal is recognized for good and all? Miss Ann may be played out as a visitor with her kinfolks, but she's still head forester of the family tree," said Judge Middleton.

"Don't you reckon we'd better 'phone Buck Hill or Big Josh or some of the family that Miss Ann is found?" asked Pete Barnes.

"No, let's let 'em worry a while longer. They've been kinder careless of Miss Ann to have mislaid her, and mighty snobbish with our gal not to have claimed kin with her long ago. My advice is let 'em worry, let 'em worry," decreed Major Fitch.

Miss Ann wasn't lost very long, however. That same evening, when Judith made her daily trip to the trolley stop with the men's dinner, Jefferson Bucknor stepped from the rear platform of the six-thirty.

"In time to carry your 'empties' for you," he said, shaking Judith's hand with a warmth that his casual greeting did not warrant. Judith surrendered the basket, but held on to the empty milk can.

"Your trusty weapon," said Jeff, and they both laughed. "Have you knocked anybody down lately?" the young man asked.

"Not many, but I am always prepared with my milk can. It is a deadly weapon, with or without buttermilk."

"I wonder if you are anywhere near so glad to see me as I am to see you. I have been sticking to business and trying to make believe that Louisville is as nice as Ryeville, and Louisville girls are as beautiful as they are reputed to be, and that the law is the most interesting thing in the world, but somehow I can't fool myself. Are you glad to see me?"

"Of course," said Judith.

"I wish you wouldn't swing that milk can so vigorously. I think a cousin might be allowed to ask if you are glad to see him without being in danger of having to take the same medicine Tom Harbison had to swallow. I've come home on a rather sad mission, in a way, and still I wanted to see my little cousin so much I can't help making a kind of lark of it. I am really worried very much, and should go to Buck Hill immediately, but if you don't mind, I'll hang around while you get the seven o'clock dinners packed and then help you carry them."

Judith did not mind at all. "I hope nobody at Buck Hill is ill," she said.

"No, but my father is in a great stew over old Cousin Ann Peyton. She is lost and he seems to feel I can find her. Why, I don't know, if he and Big Josh can't, even with the help of the marshal."

"I am sure you can," declared Judith demurely, and Jeff thought happily how agreeable it was to have someone besides a father have such faith in his ability.

"You must come in and wait," insisted Judith. "There is a fire in the dining-room. It is cold for September and a little fire towards evening is pleasant."

Jeff entered the home of his newly claimed cousin with a feeling of some embarrassment. It seemed strange that he had lived on the adjoining farm all his early years and that this was the first time he had been in the Bucks' house. There was a chaste New England charm about the dining-room that appealed to him. It was a fit background for the tall, white-haired old lady who was busily engaged in setting the table as the young people entered. She was smiling and humming a gay little minuet, as she straightened table mats and arranged forks and knives in exactly the proper relation to each other and the teaspoons.

Stooping and placing wood on the fire was an old negro man. His back was strangely familiar to Jeff and there was something about the lines of the white-haired old lady that made him stare. She was like Cousin Ann but couldn't be she. Not only the snowy hair and the simple, straight skirt of her gown were not those of the lost cousin, but the fact that she was engaged in household duties was even more convincing of a case of mistaken identity. It was old Billy that had flashed through his mind, when he noticed the fire maker, but old Billy never engaged in any form of domestic labor any more than his mistress.

"Someone to see you, Cousin Ann," said Judith, putting her arm around the old lady's waist.

Jeff choked and gasped.

That evening the telephone wires were again kept hot by the Bucknors and their many kinsmen. Everybody who had been informed of Miss Ann's being lost must be informed of her being found. Big and Little Josh drove over to Buck Hill to hear the story of Jeff's discovery.

"And what were you doing at the Bucks'?" Big Josh asked Jeff.

"I was calling on Miss Judith. In fact, I had jumped off the trolley at that stop because I hoped she would be there," said Jeff, his face flushing but his eyes holding a steady light as he looked into those of his father's cousin. He even raised his voice a little so as to make sure that everyone in the room might hear him.

"Well, well!" exploded Big Josh. "You have beat me to it. I was planning to go to-morrow to call on our Cousin Judith Buck. You know she is our cousin, Jeff—not too close, but just close enough. She has been voted into the family when we sat in solemn conclave and now to think of her proving she is kin before we had time to let her know of her election—prove it by taking poor Cousin Ann in and making her welcome! By jingo, she is a more worthy member of the clan than any woman we have in the family. I was all for taking her in because she is so gol darned pretty and up-and-coming. I must confess I wouldn't have been so eager about it if she had been jimber-jawed and cross-eyed, but, by the great jumping jingo, I'd say be my long-lost cousin now if she had a wooden leg, a glass eye and china teeth!"

"Cousin Ann has left off her wig and her hoop skirts, too," said Jeff, "and old Billy has trimmed his beard, and, what is more, both of them were busy helping—Cousin Ann setting the table and Uncle Billy bringing in wood and mending the fire."

"Did Judith Buck make them do it," asked Mildred. "She was a great boss at school."

"That I don't know, but they seemed very happy in being able to help. Mrs. Buck told me she was glad to have a visitor. Her daughter is away so much and she gets lonely. Old Uncle Billy is established in a cabin behind the house—"

"The one old Dick Buck lived in," interrupted Big Josh.

"And the old man told me he was planning to do the fall ploughing with Cupid and Puck. He says they have plenty of pull left in them and my private opinion is that Cousin Ann's old coach will not stand another trip."

"See here," spoke Little Josh, who was the practical member of the family, "this is all very well, but we Bucknors can't sit back and let this little Judy Buck support our old cousin. The girl works night and day for a living and to try to pull the farm her Grandfather Knight left her and her mother back into some kind of fertility. Old Billy and Cousin Ann may set the table and make the fires, but that isn't bringing any money into the business. We've got to reimburse the girl somehow."