s going to--drive a
car?"

"Yes," said Mary, "she is."

"I would as soon think of Claudia----"

"No," said Mary, "Mrs. Beaufort will never drive her own car. She has
the coachman habit, and if she ever gets a car, there'll be a man at
the wheel."

She brought the conversation back to Truxton. "Do you remember how we
had a picnic here years ago, Mother packed the lunch, and Truxton ate
up all the raspberry tarts?"

"He loved tarts," said the Judge, "and chocolate cake. Well, well, I
shall be glad to see him."

"Perhaps--perhaps when he gets here you'll be disappointed."

"Why," sharply, "why should I?"

Mary did not answer. She stood up with Fiddle in her arms. "Calvin's
coming for the basket," she said, "and I shall have to go up on the
other side--I left the cart."

She said "good-bye" and crossed by the stepping-stones. The Judge
wound up his fishing tackle. The day's sport resulted in three small
"shiners." But he had enjoyed the day--there been the stillness and
the sunlight, and the good company of Bob Flippin and his daughter Mary.

The dogs followed, and Mary from the other side of the stream watched
the little procession, Calvin in the lead with the load, the Judge
straight and slim with his fluff of white hair, the three little dogs
paddling on their short legs.

"Judge Bannister of Huntersfield," said Mary Flippin. Then she raised
Fiddle high in her arms. "Say _Granddad_, Fiddle," she whispered, "say
_Granddad_."

II

The Flippin farmhouse was wide and rambling. It had none of the
classic elegance of the old Colonial mansions, but it had a hall in the
middle with the sitting-room on one side and on the other an
old-fashioned parlor with a bedroom back of it. The dining-room was
back of the sitting-room, and beyond that was the kitchen, and a
succession of detached buildings which served as dairy, granary,
tool-house and carriage house in the old fashion. There was much
sunlight and cleanliness in the farmhouse, and beauty of a kind, for
the Flippins had been content with simple things, and Mary's taste was
evidenced in the restraint with which the new had been combined with
the old. She and her mother did most of the work. It was not easy in
these days to get negroes to help. Daisy, the mulatto, had come down
for the summer, but they had no assurance that when the winter came
they could keep her. Divested of her high heels and city affectations,
Daisy was just a darkey, of