Mrs. Bucknor stood aside while Uncle Billy and Jeff unpacked the carriage but as the visitor emerged she came forward. “How do you do, Cousin Ann?” she said, trying to put some warmth in her remark. “Have you driven far?”

Cousin Ann leaned over stiffly and gave her hostess a perfunctory peck on her cheek. “We left Cousin Betty Throckmorton’s this morning,” she said with a toss of the purple poke bonnet.

“Then you must have had a very early breakfast.” It was a well-known fact that the sorrel horses, although of the famous Golddust breed, were old and could travel at a stretch only about five miles an hour.

“We lef’ Miss Betty’s befo’ breakfas’,” said Uncle Billy sadly, but a glance from his mistress made him add, “but we ain’t hongry, case we done et our fill at a hotel back yonder.”

“I deemed it wise to travel before the heat of 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 aged and feeble to “make the young folks stand around.” As for the white people, Uncle Billy couldn’t make up his mind what was the matter with them. Wasn’t Miss Ann the same Miss Ann who had been visiting ever since her own beautiful home, Peyton, had been burned to the ground just after the war? She was on a visit at the time. Billy was coachman and had driven her to Buck Hill. He wasn’t old Billy then, but was young and sprightly. He drove a spanking pair of sorrels and the coach was new and shiny. It was indeed a stylish turnout and Miss Ann Peyton was known as the belle and beauty of Kentucky.

It was considered very fortunate at the time of the fire that Ann was visiting and had all of her clothes and jewels with her. They at least were saved. From Buck Hill they had gone to the home of other relations and so on until visiting became a habit. Her father, a widower, died a few weeks after the fire and later her brother. The estate had dwindled until only a small income was inherited by the bereaved Ann. 40 Visiting was cheap. She was made welcome by the relations, and on prosperous blue-grass farms the care of an extra pair of carriage horses and the keep of another servant made very little difference. Cousin Ann, horses and coachman, were received with open arms and urged to stop as long as they cared to.

In those days there always seemed to be plenty of room for visitors. The houses were certainly no larger than of the present day but they were more elastic. Of course entertaining a handsome young woman of lively and engaging manners, whose beaux were legion, was very different from having a peculiar old lady in a hoop skirt descend upon you unawares from a shabby coach drawn by fat old horses that looked as though they might not go another step in spite of the commands of the grotesque coachman with his plaited beard and bushy white hair.

But that supper at the Throckmortons’! Uncle Billy was seated on the porch steps with a pan of drippings in his hand, wherein the cook had grudgingly put the scrag of a fried chicken and a hunk of cold corn bread. The cook was a new cook and not at all inclined to bother herself over an old darkey with his whiskers done up in plaits. The old man silently sopped his bread and listened to the talk of the white folks indoors. 41

“Cousin Ann, have you ever thought of going to a home for aged women?” Mrs. Throckmorton asked. Her tone was brisk and businesslike, though not unkind. Mrs. Throckmorton had been entertaining this old cousin of her husband for many years and while she was not honored with as many visits as some of the relations she was sure she had her full share. It seemed to her high time that some member or near member of the family should step in and suggest to the old lady that there were such homes and that she should enter one.

“I? Ann Peyton go to an old ladies’ home? Cousin Betty you must be in a jocular vein,” and Uncle Billy saw through the open door that his mistress drew herself up like a queen and her eyes flashed.

“Well, plenty of persons quite as good as you go to such homes every day,” insisted the hostess. “I should think you would prefer having a regular home and not driving from pillar to post, never knowing where you will land next and never sure whether your relations will have room for you or not. As it is, just now I am really afraid it will not be convenient for you to stay much longer with us. What with Lucy’s wedding and the measles and everything! Of course you need not go immediately—” 42

“That is enough, Cousin Betty. Never shall it be said that we have worn out our welcome. We go immediately.” Miss Ann’s voice was loud and clear. She stood up and pushed back her chair sharply. “We beg to be excused,” she said and turned to walk from the room.

“Oh, nonsense, Cousin Ann!” exclaimed Mrs. Throckmorton impatiently. “Nobody said you must go immediately. It was just with the wedding imminent and—anyhow I meant it for the best when I mentioned a home for aged women. You would be quite comfortable in one and I am sure I could find exactly the right sort. You would have to make a deposit of several thousands—I don’t know exactly how much but you must have a little something left since you pay old Billy’s wages and have your horses shod and so on. Of course in the home you would have no such expenses. You could sell your horses and your old coach is little more than junk, and old Billy could go to a home too.”

Miss Ann had paused a moment but when Mrs. Throckmorton spoke of her carriage as junk and suggested a home for Billy, too, her indignation knew no bounds and with a commanding gesture of dismissal she stalked from the dining-room. Billy was summoned and since it was out of the question to start so late in the 43 evening it was determined that daylight should find them on their way to Buck Hill—Buck Hill where a certain flavor of old times was still to be found, with Cousin Bob Bucknor, so like his father, who had been one of the swains who followed in the train of the beautiful Ann Peyton. Buck Hill would always make her welcome!

And now—Buck Hill—and a hall bedroom!