“Yes you are. Where's your traveling bag?”
“On the top shelf of the cupboard. But I'm not going.” He said it firmly, but the next instant he asked, “Did Jimpson press my gray suit?”
“Oh! Squire Daddy, I'm so sorry I forgot to tell him! I'll tell him now.”
“Too late!” the Colonel sighed in resignation; “no use talking any more about it.”
“Yes there is! Your enthusiasm's just gotten damp like everything else. I am going to tell Uncle Jimpson to make a little fire to cheer us up, then we'll all go to work to get you ready.”
It seemed to be a relief to her to bustle about and set things in motion. In a short while she had a cheerful blaze going on the hearth, and the curtains drawn against the dreary twilight without.
The Colonel sat in the middle of the room, watching Uncle Jimpson and Aunt Caroline collect his scattered wardrobe, keeping a vigilant eye meanwhile upon Miss Lady. He simply did not intend to have her unhappy! It was preposterous! Altogether out of the question! His little girl crying around in corners where he couldn't see her? The idea of such a thing! If she must cry, what was the matter with his shoulder?
“You ain't got but four hankchiefs in de wash, Cunnel,” announced Aunt Caroline from her knees beside a large wicker basket. “Don't look lak dat's enough fer a white gem-man to start off on a trip wif.”
“Jimpson,” the Colonel looked up reproachfully, “did you hear that? You have actually let me get down to four handkerchiefs.”
“And socks,” continued Caroline, enjoying the opportunity of emphasizing the shortcomings of her lesser half, “'bout sebenteen, all singles. No two scarcely de same color.”