id="page_33"/>33 the day,” said Miss Ann with an added dignity. “Take my luggage to my room, Billy.”

“Yassum, yes, Miss Ann,” and the old man made a show of tying his team to the hitching post although he knew that the fat old Cupid and Puck were glad to stop and rest and nothing short of oats would budge them.

Mildred and Nan came slowly down the walk, followed by Aunt Em’ly. “We’ve got to let her kiss us and we might just as well get it over with,” grumbled Mildred.

“Well, they’s some compersations in bein’ black,” chuckled Aunt Em’ly. “I ain’t never had ter kiss Miss Ann yit.”

“How do you do, cousins?” and Miss Peyton again stooped from her loftiness and pecked first one girl and then the other. The old lady called all of her young relations cousin without adding the Christian name and it was generally conceded that she did this because she could not keep up with the younger generation in the many homes she visited.

“Mother, remember your promise,” whispered Mildred.

“Yes, Mother, remember,” added Nan. “Now is the time, before the trunks and things get put in the wrong room.”

“Uncle Billy, Miss Ann is to have the room 34 next the guest chamber. I mean the—hall room,” hesitated poor Mrs. Bucknor, who was always overawed by Cousin Ann.

Uncle Billy put down the two bulging telescopes he had picked up and looking piteously at Mrs. Bucknor said, “What you say, Miss Milly? I reckon I done misumberstood. You mus’ ’scuse ol’ Billy, Miss Milly.”

“Miss Milly done said I’ll show you the way,” said Aunt Em’ly, picking up a great hat box and a Gladstone bag. “I’ll he’p you carry up some er these here bags an’ baggage.”

The gaunt old woman stalked ahead, while Billy followed, but far from meekly. His beard with its many wrapped plaits wagged ominously and he could hardly wait to get beyond earshot of the white folks before he gave voice to his indignation.

“What’s all this a puttin’ my Miss Ann off in a lil’ ol’ hall bedroom? You-alls is gone kinder crazy. The bes’ ain’t good enough fer my Miss Ann. How she gonter make out in no little squz up room what ain’t mo’n a dressin’-room? Miss Ann air always been a havin’ the gues’ chamber an’ I’m a gonter ’stablish her thar now. Miss Milly done got mixed up, Sis Em’ly,” and the old man changed his indignant tone to a wheedling one. “Sholy yo’ Miss Milly 35 wa’ jes’ a foolin’ an’ seein’ as th’ain’t nobody in the gues’ chamber we’ll jes’ put my Miss Ann thar.”

The door of the guest chamber was open and the determined old darkey pushed by Aunt Em’ly and entered the room prepared by Mildred and Nan for their friends.

“See, they mus’ a’ got a message she wa’ on the way, kase they done put flowers in her room an’ all,” and old Billy kneeled to loosen the straps of the telescopes.

“Git up from yonder, nigger!” exclaimed Aunt Em’ly. “The young ladies air done swep and garnished this here room for they own comp’ny. Th’ain’t nothin’ the matter with that there hall room. It air plenty good enough fer mos’ folks. I reckon yo’ Miss Ann ain’t a whit better’n my Miss Mildred and my Miss Nan—ain’t so good in fac’, kase they’s got the same blood she air an’ mo’ of it. They’s a older fambly than she is kase they’s come along two or three generations further than what she is. They’s Peytons an’ Bucknors an’ Prestons an’ Throckmortons an’ Butlers an’—an’ every other Kentucky fambly they’s a mind ter be.”

Uncle Billy staggered to his feet and looked at Aunt Em’ly with amazement and indignation. He tried to speak but words failed him. She 36 towered above him. There was something sinister and threatening about her—at least so the old man fancied. Aunt Em’ly was in reality merely standing up for the rights of her own especial white folks, but to the dazed old man she seemed like a symbolic figure of famine and disaster, lean and gaunt, pointing a long, bony finger at him. He followed her to the hall bedroom and deposited his burdens and then staggered down the stairs for the rest of Miss Ann’s belongings.

Poor Uncle Billy! His troubles were almost more than he could bear. Not that he personally minded getting up before dawn and flitting from Mrs. Betty Throckmorton’s home before any member of the household was stirring. His Miss Ann had so willed it and far be it from him to object to her commands. Even going without breakfast was no hardship, if it so pleased his beloved mistress. The meal he had declared to Mrs. Bucknor they had eaten at a hotel on the way was purely imaginary. Crackers and cheese from a country store they had passed on their journey and a spray of black-heart cherries he had pulled from a tree by the wayside was all he and his mistress had eaten since the evening before at supper.

That supper! Would he ever forget it? From 37 the back porch steps he had heard the insults flung at Miss Ann by her hostess. Of course everybody who was anybody, or who had ever belonged to anybody, knew that Mrs. Elizabeth Throckmorton, known as Cousin Betty, was not really a member of the family but had merely married into it. According to Uncle Billy’s geography she was not even an American, let alone a Kentuckian, since she had come from some foreign parts vaguely spoken of as New England. He and Miss Ann never had liked to visit there, but stopped on rare occasions when they felt that being an outsider her feelings might be hurt when she heard they had been in her neighborhood, had passed by her farm without paying their respects in the shape of a short visit.

The encounter between the two ladies had been short and sharp, while the Throckmorton family sat in frightened silence. Miss Ann and Uncle Billy had been there only two days but from the beginning of the visit Uncle Billy had felt that things were not going so smoothly as he had hoped. Things had not been running very well for the chronic visitors in several of the places visited during the last year but there had been no open break or rudeness until that evening at the Throckmortons’. It was a little 38 unfortunate that they had come in on the family without warning, just as the oldest grandchildren were recovering from measles and the youngest daughter, Lucy, had made up her mind to have a June wedding. The measles had necessitated an extra house cleaning and fumigation of the nursery and the young sufferers had been put in the guest chamber to sleep, while the June wedding meant many visits to Louisville for trousseau and much conversation on the subject of who should not be invited and what kind of refreshments must be served.

A more unpropitious moment for paying a visit could not have been chosen. It was plain to see that the Throckmortons were not aware of the honor conferred upon them. The guest chamber having been converted into a convalescent hospital, Miss Ann must share room and bed with the reluctant Lucy. Bureau drawers were cleared and part of a wardrobe dedicated to the aged relative. Moreover there was no room in the stable for the visiting carriage horses, as a young Throckmorton had recently purchased a string of valuable hunters that must be housed, although Miss Ann’s Golddust breed were forced to present their broad backs to the rain and wind in the pasture.

Old Billy slept in the coach, but he often did 39 this in late years—how often he never let his mistress know. In early days he had been welcomed by the servants and treated with the respect due Miss Ann Peyton’s coachman, but the older generation of colored people had died off or had become too