“Poor, dear Adeline!” Mrs. Ware was wiping her eyes. “She and I did enjoy that visit so much! And we never saw each other again, for she died the next year. If she had lived you and her children would have seen a great deal of each other. But do tell me about Jeff, Rhoda! Where did you see him? And how did he know who you were? He was such a fine boy--about twelve years old, wasn’t he?--when we were there. Just two years older than you, Rhoda. Did you meet him in Cincinnati?” “No. He was on the steamboat when we went down and the captain--it was Captain Laidlaw, father’s friend, you know--introduced him to us, and then he remembered who we were and we had great fun talking over the good times we had at Fairmount.” “Was his sister Emily with him? She was named for me, you know. Is either of them married yet?” “No, she wasn’t with him, and neither one of them is married. He told me his father’s sister has lived with them ever since his mother died. His father died too last year and now he manages the plantation.” “Is he handsome?” queried Charlotte. “N--no, not exactly handsome. But very fine-looking, and so courteous!” “Then you saw more of him after you left the steamboat?” “Yes. He called on us in Cincinnati, and we went out together several times and then it happened that he finished his business there in time to take the same steamboat back that we did.” Charlotte regarded her sister with dancing eyes. “Is he coming up here to visit--us?” she demanded. Rhoda reddened under her scrutiny. She did not always find it easy to keep her composure under Charlotte’s habit of making audacious deductions and voicing reckless intuitions. But she had learned long before that to betray embarrassment was to invite more questioning. She answered with apparent unconcern: “Father asked him to come and told him how pleased mother would be to see him, and he said that he expected to be up near the river before long and he would cross over and call on us.” “Dear boy! Indeed, I shall be glad to see him! Adeline’s son--how time does fly!” “Does he own slaves?” said Charlotte, her eyes still on her sister’s face. “Of course!” replied Mrs. Ware. “You evidently don’t remember the place, Charlotte. It is a large tobacco plantation, and when we were there Mr. Delavan had a great many slaves.” Charlotte sprang to her feet and poised the kitten on her shoulder. “Then you won’t like him, Rhoda--and I shall!” Whistling merrily, she took some dancing steps toward the door. “Charlotte!” called her mother reprovingly, “Do try to remember that you’re not a child any more! I’ve told you so often it’s not ladylike to whistle!” Rhoda smiled at her fondly. “Don’t you know, sister, what happens to whistling women and crowing hens?” “Oh fudge! That’s all nonsense. I heard a better one the other day-- ‘Girls that whistle and hens that crow Catch the pleasures as they go.’