"This," he announced, "is Jones, the Baptist preacher--begging."
"Ah, lady,"--in mellow, unctuous tones--"I don't know what we poor black folks would do without Mr. Cresswell--the Lord bless him," said the minister, shoving his hand far down into his pocket.
Shortly afterward they were approaching the Cresswell Mansion, when the young man reined in the horse.
"If you wouldn't mind," he suggested, "I could introduce my sister to you."
"I should be delighted," answered Miss Taylor, readily.
When they rolled up to the homestead under its famous oaks the hour was past one. The house was a white oblong building of two stories. In front was the high pillared porch, semi-circular, extending to the roof with a balcony in the second story. On the right was a broad verandah looking toward a wide lawn, with the main road and the red swamp in the distance.
The butler met them, all obeisance.
"Ask Miss Helen to come down," said Mr. Cresswell.
Sam glanced at him.
"Miss Helen will be dreadful sorry, but she and the Colonel have just gone to town--I believe her Aunty ain't well."
Mr. Cresswell looked annoyed.
"Well, well! that's too bad," he said. "But at any rate, have a seat a moment out here on the verandah, Miss Taylor. And, Sam, can't you find us a sandwich and something cool? I could not be so inhospitable as to send you away hungry at this time of day."
Miss Taylor sat down in a comfortable low chair facing the refreshing breeze, and feasted her eyes on the scene. Oh, this was life: a smooth green lawn, and beds of flowers, a vista of brown fields, and the dark line of wood beyond. The deft, quiet butler brought out a little table, spread with the whitest of cloths and laid with the brightest of silver, and "found" a dainty lunch. There was a bit of fried chicken breast, some crisp bacon, browned potatoes, little round beaten biscuit, and rose-colored sherbet with a whiff of wine in it. Miss Taylor wondered a little at the bounty of Southern hospitality; but she was hungry, and she ate heartily, then leaned back dreamily and listened to Mr. Cresswell's smooth Southern r's, adding a word here and there that kept the conversation going and brought a grave smile to his pale lips. At last with a sigh she arose to her feet.
"I must go! What shall I tell Miss Smith! No, no--no carriage; I must walk." Of course, however, she could not refuse to let him go at least half-way, ostensibly to tell her of the coming of her brother. He expressed again his disappointment at his sister's absence.