She helped herself to a chocolate and called
out musically:
"Pa, are you going to town today?"
"Yes, honey."
"Can I go?"
"I'm going in an hour or so, and business at the bank will keep me until
after lunch."
"I don't care, I just must go. I'm clean out of anything to read. And I
want to shop and call on Dolly's friend--she's going soon."
"All right. Can you be ready by eleven?"
She considered.
"Yes--I reckon," she drawled, prettily swinging her foot and watching
the tree-tops above the distant swamp.
Harry Cresswell, left alone, rang the bell for the butler.
"Still thinking of going, are you, Sam?" asked Cresswell, carelessly,
when the servant appeared. He was a young, light-brown boy, his manner
obsequious.
"Why, yes, sir--if you can spare me."
"Spare you, you black rascal! You're going anyhow. Well, you'll repent
it; the North is no place for niggers. See here, I want lunch for two at
one o'clock." The directions that followed were explicit and given with
a particularity that made Sam wonder. "Order my trap," he finally
directed.
Cresswell went out on the high-pillared porch until the trap appeared.
"Oh, Harry! I wanted to go in the trap--take me?" coaxed his sister.
"Sorry, Sis, but I'm going the other way."
"I don't believe it," said Miss Cresswell, easily, as she settled down
to another chocolate.
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