The pickaninnies, the oldest of whom could not have been ten, drew up into a row, holding each other's hands, and as the riders were opposite to them, dropped a comical little courtesy all at once. They were as solemn as owls, and there was a mournful air about the whole performance that kept the young Grigsbys from laughing.
"I feel more like crying," Flea declared when they were out of hearing. "It is worse than dancing dogs and trained canaries. I sha'n't get their patient eyes and their every-day Sunday clothes out of my head for a week."
David's reply was checked by the patter of feet behind them. The boy they had seen was tearing up the road at the top of his speed.
"Please, ma'am! please, suh!" he panted, "mistes say you mus' please come back an' see her. She say to tell you marster done gone to de Cote-house for all day, an' she can' let you go by 'thout seein' her, 'pon no 'count."
Flea and David exchanged glances and turned their horses about. Mrs. Tayloe was leaning over the gate, waiting for them. David had said truly that they would never have known her. The auburn hair was faded to the color of a half-burned brick, and the gloss was gone; the blue eyes were sunken, yet seemed larger than of old in the thin face, and gave her the look of a hunted thing—a look that went to Flea's heart. She sprang from her horse into arms held eagerly to receive her.
"Miss Emily! dear Miss Emily!" The words were choked by a gush of feeling which she tried to cover up with a laugh. "Mrs. Tayloe, I mean!"
"Don't call me that, child. I wish I could be a girl again—like you!" holding her at arm's-length and gazing admiringly at the graceful figure and glowing face. "I saw you go by from the window, but I wouldn't have known you if your brother hadn't been with you. You've just got to stay to dinner. There's nobody here to-day to be afraid of. When the cat's away the mice will play."
She talked fast in a high, unnatural key. Voice and laugh had few familiar tones to the listeners. Flea hastened to say that their mother expected them home to dinner, and that their sister would come down the river early in the afternoon.
"She married a Richmond man, didn't she?" ran on the hostess. "Such a pretty girl as she was! Cecily! go tell your daddy to fix a nice snack on a waiter, and bring it out here for this lady and gentleman—you hear? and to be mighty quick about it. Sit down, both of you. It's a heap pleasanter here than in the house. Mr. Tayloe can't bear to eat out-of-doors, or I'd always have breakfast and supper on the porch. It's one of his hundreds of notions, and I daren't have so much as a biscuit eaten out here when he is at home. He was cut out for an old maid, and a fussy one at that. The very baby is afraid to cry where he can hear her. What a goose your pretty sister was to get married!"
"She doesn't think so," smiled Flea.