The Ryeville Courier reported that the county was “agog” over the ball to be given by the veterans of the Rye House porch. Invitations were delivered with the same expedition that they had been printed and by nightfall of the day the scheme was hatched everybody who was anybody, and a great many who made no pretense of being, had received a notice that he or she was expected to come to the skating rink on Friday night to a debut party.

“We’ll show ’em,” boasted Judge Middleton, who with Colonel Crutcher had driven about town in his buggy, delivering invitations. “First, we’ll stop at the Buck place and ask Judith. We can’t have a party without our Cinderella.”

Judith had returned from her peddling trip, and was busily engaged in preparing the motormen’s supper, when her old admirers arrived.

“Hi, Miss Judy!” they called from the buggy. 124

“Hi, yourself!” she cried, appearing around the side of the house with floury hands and flushed face.

“We’re gonter give a ball and we want to ask you to come to it,” said the Colonel. “It is to be this Friday night coming.”

“Oh, I wish I could, but you know I never leave my mother at night. You see, she is all alone.”

“Of course you don’t, but your mother is especially invited to this ball. See her name is written over yours on the envelope. Why, child, it wouldn’t be a ball unless you came. We—we—” but here Judge Middleton dug an elbow into the Colonel’s ribs and took the conversation in his own hands.

“The fact is, Miss Judy, all of us old fellows think a lot of you and we are kind of ’lowing you’d dance with us and make it lively for us. We’ll take it as a special favor if you stretch a point and come—you and your mother.”

Judith glowed with appreciation and put a floury hand on the old man’s arm.

“Oh, Judge Middleton, you are good—all of you are so kind to me. I’d rather come to your party than do anything in the world. I never have been to a real ball—a picnic is about the closest I’ve come to one, that and some 125 school entertainments, but you see I haven’t a suitable dress. You wouldn’t like me to come looking like Cinderella after the clock struck twelve, would you now?”

“Well, you’d look better than most even if you did,” put in Colonel Crutcher, “but you needn’t be coming the Flora McFlimsey on us. Don’t we see you running around here in a blue dress all the time? And if that ain’t good enough I bet you’ve got a white muslin somewhere with a blue sash and maybe a blue hair ribbon.”

Judith laughed. “Well, I reckon I have and, after all, nobody is going to look at me and I do want to go. I’ll say yes and I can bulldoze Mother into accepting, too, I am sure. I think it is the grandest thing that ever happened for all of you to be giving a debut party, and I’m going to come, and what’s more, I intend to dance every dance.”

“Now you are talkin’,” shouted the old men. “Save some dances for us.”

After they had driven away, the buggy enveloped in the inevitable cloud of limestone dust, Judith still stood in the yard until she saw the cloud, little more than a speck in the distance, turn into the Buck Hill avenue.

“I reckon they’ll all laugh at the dear old 126 men and make fun of their having a debut party for themselves, but I think it is just too sweet of them. Oh, oh, oh, if I only had a new dress!”

There was a general invitation for Buck Hill, family and visitors, and an especial one for Miss Ann Peyton, to whom the old men of Ryeville wished to show marked respect as being of their generation.

“Of course, we shall all go,” announced Mr. Bucknor.

“It sounds rather common,” objected Mildred. “And only look at the invitations! Did anyone ever see such ridiculous-looking things?”

But everyone wanted to go in spite of Mildred’s uncertainty, so R. S. V. P.’s were sent P. D. Q. and old Billy got busy greasing harness and polishing the coach so that his equipage might be fit for the first lady of the land to go to the ball.

“Air you gonter ’pear in yo’ sprigged muslin?” he asked Miss Ann, “or is the ’casion sech as you will w’ar yo’ black lace an’ diments?”

“Black lace and diamonds,” said Miss Ann, “but I shall have to begin darning immediately. Lace is very perishable.”

“It sho’ is,” agreed Billy. Far be it from him to remind his mistress that the black lace had 127 been going long enough to deserve a pension. So Miss Ann darned and darned on the old black lace and with ammonia and a discarded tooth brush she cleaned the diamond necklace and earrings and the high comb set with brilliants and her many rings. It was exciting to be going to a ball again. It had been many a year since she had even been invited to one. She was as pleased as a child over having an invitation all to herself—not that she would let anyone know it, but she let old Billy express his gratification.

“I tell you, Miss Ann, that there Colonel Crutcher air folks, him an’ Judge Middleton both. They don’t put on no airs but they’s folksy enough not ter have ter. I reckon they knowed you’s a gonter be the belle er the ball wheresomever it air an’ that’s the reason they done brung you a spechul invite.”

The old men of the town met on the Rye House porch after supper that night to report progress.

“Everything’s goin’ fine,” was the general report.

“Not an out-and-out refusal yet.”

“Came mighty near not getting Miss Judith,” said Colonel Crutcher. “First she couldn’t leave her mother and then when we told her 128 Mrs. Buck was especially invited she put up a plea of not having the right kind of dress. Said she’d look like Cinderella after the clock struck twelve. But the Judge and I looked so miserable over it that the child finally said she’d come, but I reckon she’ll be wearing an old dress.”

“Looks like she’s got so many businesses she might buy herself a dress,” suggested one.

“Not her. She’s saving every cent to put guano on the land.”

“Well, beauty unadorned is adorned the most,” mused Major Fitch.

“Say, I got a idee,” put in Pete Barnes.

“Go to it, Pete! Your idees are something worth while here lately. What is it?”

“What’s the reason we can’t get little Judy a dress over to Louisville? Us old men can all chip in an’ it wouldn’t amount to mor’n a good nights losin’ at poker.”

“She’s right proud. Do you reckon she’d get her back up and decline to accept it?” asked Judge Middleton.

“Not Judith. She’s not the kind to be hunting slights, but suppose we send it to her anonymous like and pretend her fairy godmother had something to do with it,” suggested Pete. 129

“And who’s gonter buy it? We don’t want any of the Ryeville women in on this,” said Colonel Crutcher.

“I got another idee,” said Pete. “Let’s get the motormen to get their wives down at the other end to shop for us. I was talkin’ to one only this mornin’ an’ he said Miss Judy cooked the best dinner he ever et an’ I’m pretty sure they’d be glad to help us out.”

“But they might help us out too gaudy like.”

“Gee, they couldn’t go wrong if we told them it must be white—white with a blue sash.”

“I’d like it to be white tarlatan or something thinnish and gauzy like and kind of stand-outy without being stand-offish.”

“And I think a few gold beads, kind of trimming it up, would be becoming to our debutante.”

“And we ought to get her slippers and stockings to match.”

“How about the size?”

That was a stumper until Pete Barnes had another idee, and that was that old Otto Schmidt, the trusty shoe repairer of Ryeville, might know. He did. In fact, even then he had a pair of Judith’s shoes to be half soled.

“She’s schlim and long,” said Otto, “five and a half touble A.” 130

So five and a half double A it was. “And make ’em gold,” suggested the Colonel.

The motorman approached was delighted to undertake the commission. “My wife’s pretty grateful not to have to be worrying herself to death about my supper and she’ll be tickled stiff to have a chance to go spend some money even if it isn’t for herself. She used to be saleslady in the biggest shop in Louisville, before she married me. She’s just about Miss Buck’s size, too,” he said.

Minute directions were given the kindly motorman as to the dress being white and thinnish and standoutish, with a blue sash and gold bead trimming, the slippers long and slim and gold.

“A blue ribbin for her hair, if you don’t mind, too,” said Pete Barnes. “I been always a holdin’ that there ain’t anything so tasty as a blue ribbin in a gal’s hair.”

“They don’t wear ribbons in their hair any more,” said Major Fitch. “I believe they all are using tucking combs nowadays.”

“Well, then, I give in. Our gal must be stylish, but I’d sure like a blue ribbin in her hair. Get her a good tuckin’ comb then.”

The ball was to be on Friday. Judith’s mind was so full of it she found it difficult to attend to her many self-imposed duties. 131

“Actually, Mumsy, I tried to sell anti-kink to a bald-headed white man. I really believe I shall have to give up my peddling job until after the ball is over,” she said.

Mrs. Buck had entered only half-heartedly into the plan of going to the ball, and had agreed to go only because Judith had pleaded so earnestly with her. Her best and only black silk must be taken out and sunned and aired and pressed.

“I declare, I’ve had it so long the styles have caught up with it again,” she exclaimed.

“Well, I wish I could say the same for my white muslin,” sighed Judith. “I’ve a great mind to wear it hind part before, to make a little change in it. Anyhow, I intend to have just as good a time in it as though it were white chiffon, embroidered in gold beads. My white pumps aren’t so bad looking. I’ll take time to-morrow to shampoo my hair. Do you know, Mumsy, Cousin Ann Peyton’s wig is just the color of my hair. Poor old lady! Pity she can’t lose it!”

It was Thursday night. The day’s work was over, the last dish from the motormen’s supper washed and put away and Mrs. Buck and her daughter were having a quiet chat, seated on the side porch. It was a pleasant spot, homelike 132 and comfortable. It was on this porch that the summer activities of the farm were carried on. Here they prepared fruit for preserving and even preserved, as a kerosene stove behind a screen in the corner gave evidence. Here they churned, in a yellow cradle churn, and worked the butter.

“It saves the house if you can do most of your work in the open,” Mrs. Buck had said.

Judith had stretched a hammock across the corner of the porch, and now she was allowing herself to relax for awhile before going to bed. She pushed herself gently to and fro with one slender foot on the porch floor, and looked out dreamily over the fields flooded with moonlight—fields bought by her grandfather Knight from her grandfather Buck, inherited by him from his father, who had inherited from his father. Each generation had done what it could to impoverish the land and never to improve it. Now it was up to her, nothing but a slip of a girl nineteen years old, to buy guano and bring the land back to its original value.

“Ho, hum! If Grandfather Buck hadn’t wasted so much and Grandfather Knight hadn’t saved so much I could put my earnings in a new georgette dress to wear to the old men’s debut ball,” she sighed. 133

A few vehicles passed the house—now an old-fashioned buggy, now a stylish touring car—each one leaving a trailing cloud of limestone dust.

“Listen, Judith, I heard the gate click.”

“Nothing but an owl clucking, Mumsy. I heard it, too, but nobody would be coming to see us this time of night.”

“It might be some young beaux coming to see you,” suggested Mrs. Buck. “You’d have plenty of them if you weren’t so—so—businesslike.”

Judith laughed merrily. “Well, I reckon they’d come anyhow if they wanted to, but I must say, Mumsy, I’m kind of snobbish about your so-called beaux. I might like the boys if they would only stop being so silly and understand that I’m a human being with a mind and soul. I reckon I’ve always been too busy to play much with the boys around Ryeville. The old men like me though.”

“That’s not getting anywhere,” complained Mrs. Buck, who frankly hoped for a husband for her daughter, although her own matrimonial venture had not been any too successful.

“That was a knock!” insisted the mother a moment later. Judith jumped up from the hammock. “I’ll go outside and see who it is.” 134

“Indeed you won’t! If it’s callers you’ve got to receive them in the house. Just light the lamp in the parlor and then open the door. I ain’t fit to see anybody so I won’t go in.”

Judith did as her mother directed, lit the lamp in the parlor and then cautiously opened the door. Nobody was there, but a large dress box was leaning against the door and fell into the hall when the door was opened. The girl picked it up and carried it into the parlor.

“Mumsy! Come quick! I don’t know what it is but it isn’t a beau. Never mind your dress, but just come!”

The string was broken by eager young hands, although Mrs. Buck begged to be allowed to pick out the knots. The top of the box was snatched off, disclosing much white tissue paper with a folded note pinned in the center.

“It must be flowers,” cried Judith. “I’m so excited I can’t make up my mind to take off the wrappings.

“Well, read the note! It’s addressed to you,” said Mrs. Buck.

“It says: ‘To Miss Judith Buck, from her old fairy god-fathers.’ Oh, Mumsy, my old men are sending me some flowers, to wear to the ball, I guess. I’ll clip the stems to keep them fresh.” 135

“Well, why don’t you open ’em up?”

Layer by layer Judith removed the tissue paper. At last the precious contents of the box were revealed—a white chiffon dress, delicately broidered with tiny gold beads, with a twisted girdle of blue with cloth of gold, a dainty blue comb set with brilliants. In a separate wrapper at one end of the box, gold slippers and stockings were discovered.

“Oh, Mumsy! I’m going to cry,” and Judith did shed a few tears and sob a few sobs.

“Surely you are not going to accept clothes from any man, Judith.” Mrs. Buck’s tone was stern and disapproving.

“Of course not from any one man, but this is from about ten men—the dear old men who are giving the ball! I wouldn’t be so mean as not to accept this gift. What’s more, I’m going to try the things on this minute. Look! There’s even a silk slip to wear under it. Whoever bought this outfit knew how to buy. Mumsy, Mumsy! The slippers fit. Oh, I’m a real Cinderella, but the best thing about it is that the old men must truly love me, the dears.”