is real names were William Skipwith Burwell. Somebody
had dubbed him "Rosebud," in the first moon of his sublunary existence,
and the abbreviation was inevitable. He would probably remain "Bud"
until he entered Hampton Sidney. The chances were even that the
alliterative temptation of "Bud Burwell" would tack the label upon him
for life. Changes were troublesome, and Powhatan County people were
opposed to taking trouble. The name of their own county usually lost the
second syllable in sliding between their lips.

Cousin Molly Belle threw herself down at full-length on the grass,
pillowed her bright head upon her arms, and stared contentedly into the
apple boughs.

"This is what I call taking one's comfort!" she breathed.

I sat down by her, my short legs tucked under me, Bedouin-wise. That was
one good thing--among many--about being out-of-doors with nobody by but
her or the colored children. I could sit cross-legged. If I forgot my
manners and did it in the house, my mother, or Mam' Chloe, pulled my
legs out straight in front of me, or shook them down, and reminded me
that I was going to be a young lady before long. As if that were my
fault, or as if it could be helped! My heart glowed with gratification
in observing that Cousin Molly Belle had laid one slim ankle over the
other. I hitched myself a little nearer to her and lapsed into the
confidential tone she encouraged in our _tete-a-tetes_.

"Don't you just love to cross your--_feet_?"

My modest hesitation was not lost upon her. She laughed.

"I like to cross my _legs_--and I do it!"

"Mam' Chloe says people ought to think little ladies haven't any
legs,--that their feet are just pinned to the bottom of their
pantalettes."

"Mam' Chloe is an--echo!"

"That wasn't what you began to say,--was it?" asked I, diffidently.

She laughed again, tweaking my ear, affectionately, and telling me that
I was a "monkey, and too sharp to be safe."

Her eyes were full of laughter and laziness; the color in her cheeks was
that of a velvet perpetual rose, shading into peach-blow, then into pure
white that never took freckle or tan from the hottest sun.

Have I said that her hair was auburn, and curled like grape tendrils,
from the nape of the neck to the forehead? The color was singular. In
the shade it was that of a perfectly groomed bay horse. When the sun
struck it, it got all alive, as if there were light under it, as well as
over it, and was, unmistakably, red. She