“The other?” cried Magnolia softly then, looking up very bright-eyed and flushed from the case over which she had been bending. “But the third? Gaylord? It doesn’t say——”
“The black sheep. My great-grandfather. There always was a Gaylord. And he always was the black sheep. My grandfather, Gaylord Ravenal and my father Gaylord Ravenal, and——” he bowed.
“Black too, are you?” said Andy then, drily.
“As pitch.”
Magnolia bent again to the book, her brow thoughtful, her lips forming the words and uttering them softly as she deciphered the quaint script.
I give and bequeath unto my son Samuel the lands called Ashwood, which are situated, lying and being on the South Side of the Cumberland River, together with my other land on the North side of said River. . . .
I give and bequeath unto my son Jean, to him and his heirs and assigns for ever a tract of land containing seven hundred and forty acres lying on Stumpy Sound . . . also another tract containing one thousand acres . . .
I give and bequeath to my son Samuel four hundred and fifty acres lying above William Lowrie’s plantation on the main branch of Old Town Creek . . .
Magnolia stood erect. Indignation blazed in her fine eyes. “But, Gaylord!” she said.
“Yes!” Certainly she had never before called him that.