CHAPTER VIII
Cousin Ann Looks Backward
Mildred was right. Buck Hill was a perfect place for parties—of all kinds. There was a long, broad hall leading into double parlors on one side and on the other the dining-room and sitting-room. The satiny floors—ideal for dancing—reflected in their polished surfaces rare pieces of old mahogany. French windows opened on the porches, where comfortable wicker chairs and hammocks were plentiful.
The garden to the south of the house was noted in a county famous for gardens. Mr. Bucknor prided himself on having every kind of known rose that would grow in the Kentucky climate. The garden had everything in it a garden should have—marble benches, a sun dial, a pergola, a summer house, a box maze and a fountain around which was a circle of stone flagging with flowering portulacca springing up in the cracks. The shrubs were old and huge, forming pleasant nooks for benches—now a couple of syringa bushes meeting overhead, now 90 lilacs, white and purple extending an invitation to lovers to come sit on the bench. Oh, Buck Hill was a place for lovers! The garden a place of all places!
The house party was in full swing. Five guests had arrived on the six-thirty and three more on the seven o’clock trolley and a car of six had driven over from Lexington in time for supper. The mansion was filled and running over, but the overflow could always be taken care of in “The Office,” a cottage near the house, a building quite common in old southern homes, often set aside for young male visitors.
Cousin Ann had been lying down all afternoon in response to the earnest pleadings of old Billy. He had pressed the sprigged muslin and it hung on a hook behind the door in readiness for the mistress. Then he brought her a pitcher of water, fresh from the well, and a funny little tight bouquet of verbenas.
“I thought you mought w’ar ’em in yo’ ha’r, Miss Ann,” he said. “I ’member how you uster always w’ar verbeny in yo’ ha’r.”
“So I did, Billy.” Miss Ann raised her hand to her hair, but quickly dropped it, remembering suddenly that her own snowy locks were exposed to view. She did not relish having even old Billy see her without her wig. She drew a scarf 91 over her head and Billy turned his away, pretending he had not seen what she did not want him to see.
“Now you dress up pretty, Miss Ann, an’ ’member th’ain’t gonter be nary pusson here what kin hol’ a can’le to you.”
“Have they come yet, Billy?”