“I’d take you all the way, Uncle Peter, but I can’t trust my left hind tire up that bumpy lane,” Judith explained.
“Ain’t it the truf, Missy? If Mr. Big Josh would jes stop talkin’ ’bout it an’ buil’ hisse’f a road! He been lowin’ he wa’ gonter git busy an’ backgammon that lane fer twenty-five years an he ain’t never tech it yit. That’s the reason they done sent fer me. The ladies in the fambly air done plum wo’ out what with cookin’ fer comp’ny an’ washin’ up an’ all. It looks like comp’ny air the only thing what don’t balk at that there lane. They done sint a hurry call fer ol’ Peter, kase they got a notion Miss Ann Peyton air on the way. They phoned down ter the sto’ fer me ter put my foot in the pike an’ come erlong. They done got a phome message from way over yonder at Throckmorton’s that dus’ from Miss Ann’s coach wa’ a risin’. They ain’t mo’n got shet er a batch er visitings 80 when here come news that Miss Ann air a comin’. The ladies air sho’ peeved an’ they done up an’ said they ain’t a gonter stay home an’ Mr. Big Josh tell ’em ter go ’long if they’s a min’ an’ he’n me’ll look arfter Miss Ann.”
“But she is at Buck Hill,” said Judith. “I am sure of it. I saw her carriage turning in there this morning. Poor old lady!”
“I ain’t seein’ that she air so po’.”
“It seems very pitiful to me for her never to be wanted, always coming and always having to pack up and leave. I’d love to have her come visit me. You know she and I are of the same blood, Uncle Peter—or did you know it?”
“Land’s sake, Missy, I mus’ a made a mistake. I been a thinkin’ all along that I wa’ a ridin’ with ol’ Dick Buck’s gran’baby. You mus’ scuse me.”
“So you are, Uncle Peter, I am Judith Buck, but I have just as good a right to be Judith Bucknor as Mr. Bob Bucknor or Mr. Big Josh Bucknor, or any of them.”
“Well, bless Bob! Do tell!” was all the old man had time to ejaculate, as they came to the mouth of the lane, bumpy in dry weather and muddy in wet, and he must leave the swiftly moving car and again trust to his old limbs to 81 carry him on his way. His step was lighter, however, as he was the bearer of good tidings to all the white folks at Mr. Big Josh’s. Miss Ann Peyton was not coming, but was making a visit at Buck Hill. He was full of other news, too, but was not quite sure whether it would be so welcome to the family.
“Not that she ain’t mo’ likelier than mos’ er the young genderation,” he muttered.
Judith had a slap-dash impressionistic manner of cooking all her own, following no rules or recipes, but with an unerring instinct that produced results. She said she cooked by ear. Whatever her method, the motormen were vastly pleased with the hot suppers she brought them and the word was passed that the pretty red-headed girl at the last stop before you got to Ryeville would furnish a basket supper at a reasonable figure and soon almost every man on the line was eager to become one of her customers.