“Darn the women folks, I say!” rumbled Big Josh. “If they weren’t so selfish and bent on their own pleasure we would not have to be doing this miserable thing.”
“Perhaps if we had helped them a little with Cousin Ann they wouldn’t be kicking so,” humbly suggested Little Josh.
“Help them! Help them! How in Pete’s name could we help them any more? I am sure I have allowed Cousin Ann to give me a lamp mat every Christmas since I was born and my attic is full of her hoop skirts.” A smile went the rounds and Big Josh subsided.
Buck Hill never looked more hospitable or attractive, as the cousins speeded up the driveway—two cars full of Kentucky blue blood. The gently rolling meadows dotted with grazing cattle, the great friendly beech trees on the 225 shaven lawn, the monthly roses in the garden, the ever-blooming honeysuckle clambering over the summer-house seemed to cry out, “Welcome to all!”
“Gee! Poor Cousin Ann!” muttered one. “No wonder she likes to stay here.”
An unwonted silence fell on the group, as they tiptoed up the front walk. They could not have said why they walked so quietly, but had they been called on to serve as pall bearers to their aged relative they would not have entered into the duty with any greater solemnity.
Aunt Em’ly appeared at the front door.
“Lawsamussy, Marse Bob, you done give me a turn,” she gasped, bobbing a courtesy to the assembled gentlemen. “Is you done et?”
“Yes, yes, Aunt Em’ly, we have had dinner, but we should like to—”
“Yassir! I’ll git the ice cracked in no time an’ sen’ Kizzie fer some mint.”