in."

Calvin, who had watched over more than one generation of Bannister
girls, and knew what was expected of them, made a worried protest.

"Hit's gwine rain, Miss Becky."

Dalton dismissed him with a wave of the hand. "I won't let her get wet,"
he lifted Becky from the surrey and walked with her to his car.

Kemp, who had come down in the house truck with Madge's trunks, stood
stiff and straight by the door. Being off with Miss MacVeigh he was on
with Miss Bannister. Girls might come and girls might go in his master's
life, but Kemp had an air of going on forever.

When he had seated Becky, Dalton stepped back and gave hurried
instructions.

"At four, Kemp," he said, "or if you are later, wait until we come."

"Very well, sir." Kemp stood statuesquely at attention until the car
whirled on. Then he sat down on the station platform, and talked to the
agent. He was no longer a servant but a man.

As the big car whirled up the hill, Becky, looking out upon the familiar
landscape, saw it with new eyes. There was a light upon it which had
never been for her on sea or land. She had not believed that in all the
world there could be such singing, blossoming radiance.

They drove through the old mill town and the stream was bright under the
willows. They stopped on the bridge for a moment to view the shining
bend.

"There are old chimneys under the vines," Becky said; "doesn't it seem
dreadful to think of all those dead houses----"

George gave a quick turn. "Why think of them? You were not made to think
of dead houses, you were made to live."

On and on they went, up the hills and down into the valleys, between
rail fences which were a riot of honeysuckle, and with the roads in
places rough under their wheels, with the fields gold with stubble, the
sky a faint blue, with that thick look on the horizon.

George talked a great deal about himself. Perhaps if he had listened
instead to Becky he might have learned things which would have surprised
him. But he really had very interesting things to tell, and Becky was
content to sit in silence and watch his hands on the wheel. They were
small hands, and for some tastes a bit too plump and well-kept, but
Becky found no fault with them. She felt that she could sit there
forever, and watch his hands and listen to his clear quick voice.

At last George glanced at the little clock which hung in front of him.
"Look here," he said, "I told Kemp to have tea for us at a place