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 221 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 222 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. 223

“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 224 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 225 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—” 226

“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 227 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.”