Uncle Jimpson, standing by the wheel, shuffled his feet in embarrassment: “Yas'm,” he agreed, “I'll put it up effen you want me to. But it won't stay up. No, mam, it won't stay. Looks lak in de las' two or three years it got a way o' fallin' back. Cunnel 'lowed he was gwine to git it fixed onct or twict, but he ain't done it.”
Fanchonette just here became enraged at a bit of paper that was caught in the wheel, and gave vent to such a violent burst of temper that it required the undivided attention of her mistress to calm her.
Uncle Jimpson, occupying the smallest possible portion of the seat, and with one leg hanging outside the buggy, rejoiced in the proximity of so much elegance. It gave him a feeling of prosperity and importance, and made him straighten his back, crook his elbow, and even adopt a more formal manner with old John. He deeply regretted that he had not put on a clean coat and as for the buggy, he was already planning a thorough cleaning of it before driving the stylish guest back in the afternoon.
“Stop a moment!” commanded Mrs. Sequin peremptorily. “What a view! I had no idea there was such scenery anywhere around here!”
“Yas'm, hits about de fines' sceneries in de world! You kin see from dem heights clean down to de bridge. All dis hill used to be our-alls. I 'member hearin' how Mr. Rogers Clark done gib it to de Cunnel's gran'paw fer a lan' grant when de Injuns libed here!”
“Who owns it now? Who owns the hilltop?”
“I don't know, mam. We been sellin' off considerable.”
“Well, I must find out about that at once. I'll send an agent out to-morrow to look into the matter. Colonel Carsey left only one daughter, I believe, and she never married?”
Uncle Jimpson jerked the reins and looked a bit nettled.
“Not yit,” he said, “but she ain't no old maid, Miss Lady ain't. Dere neber wuz a Carsey lady yit dat withered on de stalk; de trouble wif dem is dey git picked too soon. Ez fer Miss Lady's ma, she wasn't but jes turned sebenteen when me an' de Cunnel went down to Alabama to marry her.”