e lamp chimney, and he straightened back
with a start, only to stare about him again, vaguely hurt. Collecting
himself again, "Knew there was reason shouldn't go 'roun' th' back.
Le' Zeke take horses. Zeke! Zeke!" he called in a falsetto quaver.
"Come in this way, madam," he added with grave dignity, but curtailing
the bow.

For a moment Mary Louise was fascinated. Old Mr. Bushrod Mosby she had
known for years--a veritable rustic macaroni, a piece of tinselled
flotsam floating on backwater. He had always called her M'Lou; later
occasionally Miss M'Lou. Now the rhythm of some ancient rout was
stirring old memories, and the obligations of host sat pleasantly
heavy upon his befogged consciousness. He bowed again.

"No, thank you," she summoned her resources. "We'll be getting home.
But we'll just leave the horses here," she added a bit hurriedly,
anxious to be off. Echoes were sounding along a length of hallway and
she was not desirous of the prospect of seeing Mrs. Mosby--Aunt
Loraine--who was apt to prove a most discordant fly in the ointment of
harmonious hospitality. So she turned to go, but turned too late. The
door opened again and another figure appeared, a brisk figure, at
which the dead leaves of the porch bestirred themselves in vague,
uneasy rustlings. Uncle Buzz stepped meekly aside and Mrs. Mosby--Aunt
Loraine--joined the group, giving him a momentary withering glance.
She was an inexorable woman, an inch taller than Uncle Buzz, who stood
five feet three, but she matched him whim for whim in her attire. Her
hair looked black in the graying light; in reality it was splotched
and streaked with a chestnut red, colour not so ill as misapplied. Her
dress rustled as she swept forward and there were numberless faint
clickings and clackings of chains and bangles about her. A high boned
collar with white ruching helped her hold her head even more proudly
straight, and the smile she shot Mary Louise was heavily fraught with
a sickly sweet though rigorous propriety.

"You must come in, my dear," she lisped. "Such exhausting exercise!
You wouldn't think of going one step further without resting.
Here"--she reached out one hand toward Mary Louise, testing the
meanwhile the security of the upper step with the tip of a shiny
shoe--"the man will attend to the horses."

"Man! Yes," Uncle Buzz recollected with a start. "Zeke! Zeke!" he
began to shout again. "Come here, suh!"

"Bushrod! Be still!" hissed Mrs. Mosby.

Alm