his other girl with dreams in her
eyes. George was not a vulture, he was simply a marauding bee----!

Becky was already in the surrey when George came back, and Calvin was
gathering up his reins.

"Oh, look here, I wish you'd let me drive you up, Miss Bannister,"
George said, sparkling; "there's no reason, is there, why you must ride
alone?"

"Oh, no."

"Then you will?"

Her hesitation was slight. "I should like it."

"And can't we drive about a bit? You'll show me the old places? It is
such a perfect day. I hope you haven't anything else to do."

She had not. "I'll go with Mr. Dalton, Calvin."

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 horiz