Ann. You and Nan must be polite." Mrs. Bucknor sighed, realizing she
was demanding of her daughters something that was difficult for her to
perform herself. Being polite to Cousin Ann had been the most arduous
task imposed upon that wife and mother during twenty-five years of
married life.

At the yard gate Uncle Billy drew in his steeds with a great show of
their being unwilling to stop. He turned as though to command the
footman to alight and open the door of the coach. With feigned
astonishment at there being no footman, he climbed down from the box
with so much dignity that even Aunt Em'ly was impressed, though
unwilling to acknowledge it.

"That ol' nigger certainly do walk low for anybody who sets so high,"
she whispered to Mildred. The bowing of Uncle Billy's legs in truth
took many inches from his height. But the old man, in spite of crooked
legs, worn-out boots, shabby livery and battered high hat, carried
himself with the air of a prime minister. Miss Ann Peyton was his
queen.

There was an expression of infinite pathos on the countenance of the
old darkey as he opened the door of the ancient coach. Bowing low, as
though to royalty, he said, "Miss Ann, we air done arrive."

Jeff Bucknor took his mother's arm and gently led her down the walk.
Involuntarily she stiffened under his affectionate grasp and held
back. It was all very well for the men of the family to take the stand
they did concerning Cousin Ann Peyton and her oft-repeated visits. Men
had none of the bother of company. Of course she would be courteous to
her and always treat her with the consideration due an aged kinswoman,
but she could not see the use of pretending she was glad to see her
and rushing down the walk to meet her as though she were an honored
guest.

"It is hard on Mildred and Nan," she murmured to her stalwart son, as
he escorted her towards the battered coach.

"Yes, Mother, but kin is kin--and the poor old lady hasn't any real
home."

"Well then she might--There are plenty of them--very good comfortable
ones--"

"You mean homes for old ladies? Oh, Mother, you know Father would
never consent to that. Neither would Uncle Tom nor Big Josh. She would
hate it and then there's Uncle Billy and the horses--Cupid and
Puck--to say nothing of the chariot."

Further discussion was impossible. Mother and son reached the yard
gate as Uncle Billy opened the coach door and announced the fact that
Miss Ann had arrived at her destinat