“Sam’ll rub her down,” promised Peachy. “I’ll tell Sam to give her a good feed.” “You attend to it yourself,” commanded Miss Sally. “I isn’t a stable-boy,” remonstrated Peachy. “I’se a house-boy.” “House-boy or stable-boy, you mind what I tell you. In my father’s time--and he owned fifty--our boys did whatever they were told to do.” “Ya-as, m’m.” “And the poor little colt,” said Miss Sally, making that infant’s discomfort her own,--“I don’t want my colt kicked to death among a lot of wild shod heels.” “He go with his mammy. No ha’um evah happen to you’ colts on this place, Miss Sally.” “You see to it that none happens to it this time! All the family at home?” she stopped to inquire, with her riding-skirt gathered in her hand. “Ya-as, m’m.” “Has my trunk been carried up? I sent it this morning.” “Ya-as, m’m.” “Who’s here?” demanded Miss Vandewater, stiffening her figure. Peachy followed her eye to the stable-yard, where stood a vehicle she never beheld with calmness. It was the handsome and shining carriage of Judge Poynton, from the county seat. Peachy grinned. “Miss Judge come out this mawnin’ to spend the day.” So sore does one’s pride become when chafed by poverty, that Miss Sally hated that plump and opulent woman for naught but being plump and opulent; though she would have given as her reason the airs of a woman married above her wildest expectations. “You can fetch my riding-skirt to my room, Nancy,” said Miss Sally to the colored girl who admitted her, casting it across the stair-rail as she ascended. “I reckon I go to the same room I always have.” “Miss Ma’ky’s things is all spread out in that bedroom,” apologized Nancy. “You can soon move them out of the way.” “But Miss Maria ’bleeged to have you’ trunk set in the back bedroom fo’ this week, Miss Sally.” A solicitous hostess, trailing a muslin wrapper--for even Kentucky hospitality may be overpowered by the languors of summer midday--met the guest with outstretched hands. Miss Sally permitted her cheek to be brushed, and at once put the lady into the apologetic attitude of an overcrowded landlord. “You ought to have sent me word if it was inconvenient to have me now, Mrs. Poynton, and I wouldn’t have skipped the Moores as I did.” “Miss Sally, it is not inconvenient to have you now!” the delinquent pleaded. “It is never inconvenient. Only America’s things are so spread out, and we are obliged to keep dressing-rooms for the wedding, and the bridesmaids! I thought you would be less annoyed in that back room than anywhere else. I am so glad you have come!” “The judge’s wife is here?” “But it is only for the day,” unconsciously conciliated Mrs. Poynton. “She is not staying. Sue Bet Moore has been here, helping America to try on. Her dresses are all done. But Sue Bet has gone.” “I knew Sue Bet was to be one of the bridesmaids,” said Miss Sally. It was not necessary to mention bridesmaids to a woman of her thorough information.