der called the names, each time repeating Josie as
"Miss Blossom, Colonel Brent; Miss Blossom, Miss Kite-Smith; Miss
Blossom, Mrs. Bucknow; Miss Blossom, Major Dugan; Miss Blossom, Mrs.
Claiborne; Miss Blossom, Judge Tuttle; Miss Blossom, my father, Major
Denton," and so forth and so on down a line of twenty.

Josie felt she had never been among so many titles in all her life. She
recalled some lines from an opera of Gilbert and Sullivan's:

"With admirals the ocean teemed
And bishops in their shovel hats
Were cheap as any tabby cats,
In point of fact too many."

"The women have no titles but their names sound so aristocratic," she
thought. "Why, oh, why did I choose such a silly name as Blossom? There
were plenty of nice plain names that would have done me just as well
and I wouldn't feel such a fool when I am introduced. I thought Miss
Oleander would never get through calling out Blossom."

She was relieved to find that her henna wig was not so very much out of
place. Miss Hite-Smith was blondined in the back, with a transformation
in the front that did not quite match and all of the aristocratic dames
had resorted to cosmetics of one kind or another. Powder predominated
but an occasional dash of rouge gave color to the party.

Dinner was in courses, served by two colored maids whose social strata
must have been about that of Betty's at Mrs. Pete's. To be sure they
had on white caps and aprons, garnishings of which Betty boasted not,
but their motions were reminiscent of the cornfield, as though they
might still be walking over ploughed ground.

Josie could not help thinking that perhaps the grandfather, he of the
hundreds of slaves and thousands of acres, would have turned over in
his grave again if he could have seen the type of repast served on his
beautiful old china. There was course after course but each was merely
a sample, from soup to coffee. Josie remembered the heaping plate of
cabbage and corned beef with the hunk of corn bread at Mrs. Pete's with
regretful sentiment.

"Blossom, Blossom! Did I hear aright, young lady?" asked Judge Tuttle.
"Is your name Blossom?"

"Yes, sir," said Josie, respectfully, but wishing in her heart the old
gentleman would not insist on that absurd name, "Sally Blossom!"

"Ah, and from what part of the country do you come?"

"Washington," answered Josie, thankful that at one time she had lived
there--was living there in fact when her father, Detective O'Gorman,
died.