“Jack! You don’t mean Mrs. Royall--the authoress!” Amelia hung motionless over the wheel. Jack grasped her firmly by the elbow. “Who else? There is only one Mrs. Royall. There’s Her Highness now, back in the chicken yard. Come along. I’ll fetch the bag later.” Amelia shook out her skirts and followed him along the path that led around the house. The little old lady bending over a chicken coop from which spilled yellow puffs of baby chicks, might have been somebody’s indulgent grandmother. The calico dress drawn in around a shapeless middle was faded; so was the bonnet from which escaped several strands of iron-gray hair. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Royall!” There was warm deference in Jack’s voice. She stood up and her shoulders squared. There was a certain sprightliness in the movement, and in the tanned, unwrinkled face gleamed eyes of a remarkable brightness. When she spoke her voice had an unexpected crispness. “Indeed--it’s Jack Haley. And who is this female with you?” “This is a kinswoman of mine, Mrs. Royall. I have the pleasure of presenting to you, Mrs. Amelia Kemp.” “How do ye do!” The little old lady spoke with prim formality, her eyes flashing briefly over Amelia. “I am honored, ma’am.” Amelia scarcely managed the words. “She has come to Washington to work,” Jack went on. “So I have brought her to you.” The gray eyes snapped. “And why should you bring your kinswoman to me?” “Because, Mrs. Royall, it’s newspapers she wants to know about. And you’re the best newsman in Washington, begging your pardon, ma’am.” He bowed elaborately. “You needn’t!” She turned to Amelia. “I’ve read one of your books, ma’am. Jack sent it to me. I learned so much about America.” Undoubtedly the gray eyes softened, but the tone did not change. “Why don’t you take her to your friend on the avenue--that infamous Abolitionist?” “Mrs. Royall!” Jack’s voice was charged with shock. “You couldn’t be speaking about Editor Gamaliel Bailey?” “He should be ashamed of himself. Selling out to those long-winded black coats!” “But, Mrs. Royall--” “Don’t interrupt. If he’d come to me I’d tell him how to get rid of slavery. It’s a curse on the land. But those psalm-singing missionaries--Bah!” “May I remind you, Mrs. Royall,” Jack spoke very softly, “that when you came back from Boston you spoke very highly of the Reverend Theodore Parker. And he’s a--” “He’s _not_ a black coat.” The lady spoke with feeling. Her face cleared and she added sweetly, “He must be a Unitarian.” Then she laughed, all shadows and restraint gone. “Forgive an old windbag, guilty of the very faults she criticizes in others.” She lifted her eyes. “See how the sun shines on our Capitol. Have you ever seen anything half so beautiful?” Amelia shook her head. “I’ve never traveled any place before, ma’am. Washington is more than I can believe.”