“Heaben when we die,” was all Billy would divulge.
“Miss Milly an’ Marse Bob ain’t said nothin’ ’bout Miss Ann leavin’. Fac’ is Miss Milly lef’ word fer me ter dish up a good dinner fer Miss Ann whilst they wa’ away an’ serve it on a tray bein’ as she wa’ all alone.”
“Well, I ’low we’ll be settin’ down in the dinin’-room at the house pawty come dinner time,” declared the old man, veiled insolence in his tone.
“What I gonter tell Marse Bob an’ Miss Milly when they axes wha’ Miss Ann done took herself?”
“I ain’t consarned with what you tells ’em. My Miss Ann air done writ a letter ter Miss 209 Milly an’ if you ain’t got a lie handy you kin jes’ han’ her the billy dux.”
“I allus been holdin’ ter it an’ I’ll give it ter you extry clarified, you’s a mean nigger man—mean an’ low lifed. I axes you, politeful like, wha’ you an’ Miss Ann a goin’ an’ all you kin give me is sass.” Aunt Em’ly was full of curiosity and was greatly irritated not to have her curiosity satisfied. But Billy was adamant and Miss Ann more dignified than usual, as she doled out her small tips—all the poor old lady could afford, but presented to the servants whenever she departed with the air of royalty.
“Well, skip-ter-ma-loo, she’s gone agin!” laughed Aunt Em’ly, as she stood with Kizzie and watched the old coach rolling down the avenue. “I reckon Marse Bob’s gonter be right riled that I can’t tell him wha’ she goin’ but you couldn’t git nothin’ outer that ol’ Billy with an ice pick. I laid off ter ax Miss Ann herself but when she come a sailin’ down the steps like she done swallowed the poker an’ helt out this here dime ter me like it wa’ a dollar somehow she looked kinder awesome an’ I couldn’t say nothin’ but ‘Thanky!’ Kizzie, did you notice which-away the coach took when they reached the pike?”
“I think it went up the road to’ds Marse Big 210 Josh’s,” said Kizzie, “but the dus’ air pow’ful thick right now, owin’ ter ortermobiles goin’ both ways, so I ain’t quite sho’.”
“I wa’ pretty night certain ol’ Billy p’inted his hosses’ heads to’ds Ryeville, but I ain’t sho’. It air sech a misty, moisty mornin’ an’ what with the dus’ it air hard ter punctuate. I reckon you’s right, Kizzie, an’ they’s hit the pike fer Marse Big Josh’s. Anyhow we’ll say that when Marse Bob axes us. If you tells one tale an’ I tells anudder Marse Bob’ll be mad as a wet hen.”
The old coach, creaking ominously, lumbered and rolled down the avenue. The bees, with their front door blocked by the corn cob, hummed furiously. Miss Ann, ensconced behind the barricade of luggage, gazed out on the rolling meadows of Buck Hill and thought bitterly of the old days when devoted cavaliers accompanied her coach, eager to escort her on her journey and vying with one another for a smile from the careless girl within.