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. 203

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 204 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. 205

“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?” 206

“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 207 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. 208 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 209 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 210 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 211 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.