There had always been a place in the carriage house at Buck Hill for Cousin Ann’s coach until the family had gone in largely for automobiles and then the carriage house had been converted into a garage, the horse-drawn vehicles in a great measure discarded and now the ancient coach must find shelter under a shed, with various farming implements. Billy felt this to be as much of an insult as putting his mistress out of the guest chamber, but he must make the best of it and never let Miss Ann know. Of course the coach must be ready to take the princess to the ball. Wheels must be greased and silver polished.
“I wisht my mammy done taught me howter sew,” old Billy muttered, as he awkwardly punched a long needle in and out of the cushions, vainly endeavoring to unite the torn edges.
“What’s the matter, Uncle Billy?” asked Jeff Bucknor, who had just crawled from under one of the cars, where he had been delightfully 138 employed in a manner peculiar to some males, finding out what was wrong with the mysterious workings of an automobile.
“Nothin’ ’tall, Mr. Jeff! I wa’ jes’ kinder ruminatin’ to myse’f. I din’t know nobody wa’ clost enough ter hear me. I wa’ ’lowin’ ter sew up this here cushion so’s it would las’ ’til me’n Miss Ann gits time ter have this here ca’ige reumholzered. We’re thinkin’ a nice sof’ pearl gray welwit will be purty. What do you think, Mr. Jeff?”
“I think pearl gray would be lovely and it would look fine with the handsome silver mountings, but in the meantime wouldn’t you like me to give you some tow linen slips that belong to one of the cars. You could tack them on over your cushions and it would freshen things up a lot.”
“Thankee, Marster, thankee! If it wouldn’t unconwenience you none.” Old Billy’s eyes were filling with tears. It was seldom in late years that anyone, white or colored, stopped to give him kind words or offers of assistance. The servants declared the old man was too disobliging himself to deserve help and the white people seemed to have forgotten him.
Jeff got the freshly laundered linen covers and then climbed into the old coach and deftly 139 fastened them with brass headed tacks.
“Now I do hope Cousin Ann will like her summer coverings,” he said.
“She’s sho’ too—an’ we’s moughty ’bleeged ter you, Marse Jeff. Miss Ann an’ me air jes’ been talkin’ ’bout how much you favors yo’ gran’pap, Marse Bob Bucknor as war. I don’t want ter put no disrespec’ on yo’ gran’mammy, but if Marse Bob Bucknor had er had his way Miss Ann would er been her.”
“I believe I have heard that Grandfather was very much in love with Cousin Ann. Why did she turn him down?” asked Jeff, trying not to laugh.