There was a general invitation for Buck Hill, family and visitors, and an especial one for Miss Ann Peyton, to whom the old men of Ryeville wished to show marked respect as being of their generation.
“Of course, we shall all go,” announced Mr. Bucknor.
“It sounds rather common,” objected Mildred. “And only look at the invitations! Did anyone ever see such ridiculous-looking things?”
But everyone wanted to go in spite of Mildred’s uncertainty, so R. S. V. P.’s were sent P. D. Q. and old Billy got busy greasing harness and polishing the coach so that his equipage might be fit for the first lady of the land to go to the ball.
“Air you gonter ’pear in yo’ sprigged muslin?” he asked Miss Ann, “or is the ’casion sech as you will w’ar yo’ black lace an’ diments?”
“Black lace and diamonds,” said Miss Ann, “but I shall have to begin darning immediately. Lace is very perishable.”
“It sho’ is,” agreed Billy. Far be it from him to remind his mistress that the black lace had 127 been going long enough to deserve a pension. So Miss Ann darned and darned on the old black lace and with ammonia and a discarded tooth brush she cleaned the diamond necklace and earrings and the high comb set with brilliants and her many rings. It was exciting to be going to a ball again. It had been many a year since she had even been invited to one. She was as pleased as a child over having an invitation all to herself—not that she would let anyone know it, but she let old Billy express his gratification.
“I tell you, Miss Ann, that there Colonel Crutcher air folks, him an’ Judge Middleton both. They don’t put on no airs but they’s folksy enough not ter have ter. I reckon they knowed you’s a gonter be the belle er the ball wheresomever it air an’ that’s the reason they done brung you a spechul invite.”
The old men of the town met on the Rye House porch after supper that night to report progress.
“Everything’s goin’ fine,” was the general report.