The car leaped forward into a rose bush. With a savage twist of the wheel the driver brought it back to the drive, leaving deep prints in the front lawn. Then it was gone, down the drive, as they stood staring after it.
“So that’s that,” Val commented. “Well, all I’ve got to say is that Rick’s branch of the family has sadly gone to seed—”
“Being a southern gentleman has made you slightly snobbish.” Ricky came out from her lurking place behind the door.
“Snobbish!” her brother choked at the injustice. “I suppose that that is your idea of a perfect gentleman, a diamond in the rough—”
He pointed down the drive.
Ricky laughed. “It’s so easy to tease you, Val. Of course he is a—a wart of the first class. But Rupert will fix him—won’t you?”
Her older brother grinned. “After that example of your trust in me, I’ll have to. I agree, he is not the sort you would care to introduce to your more particular friends. But this visit seems to suggest something—”
“That he has the wind up?” Val asked.
“There are indications of that, I think. Something LeFleur has done has stirred our friends into direct action. We shall probably have more of it within the immediate future. So I want you, Ricky, to go to town. Madame LeFleur has very kindly offered to put you up—”
Each tiny curl on Ricky’s head seemed to bristle with indignation. “Oh, no you don’t, Rupert Ralestone! You don’t get me away from here when there are exciting things going on. I hardly think that our friend with the slimy manner will use machine-guns to blast us out. And if he does—well, it wouldn’t be the first time that this house was used as a fortress. I’m not going one step out of here unless you two come with me.”
Rupert shrugged. “As I can’t very well hog-tie you to get you to town, I suppose you will have to stay. But I am going to send for Lucy.” With that parting shot he turned and went in.
Lucy arrived shortly before noon. She was accompanied by a portion of her large family—four, Val counted, including that Sam who had become Ricky’s faithful shadow.
“What’s all dis Ah heah ’bout some mans sayin’ he am de Ralestone?” she demanded of Ricky. “De policemans oughta lock him up. Effen he comes botherin’ ’roun’ heah agin I’ll ten’ to him!”
With that she marched majestically into the kitchen, elbowed Letty-Lou out of her way, and proceeded to stir up a batch of brown molasses cookies. “ ‘Cause dey is fillin’ fo’ boys. An’ Mistuh Val, heah, he needs some moah fat ’crost dose skinny ribs. Letty-Lou, yo’all ain’t feedin’ dese men-folks ri’. Now yo’ chillens,” she swooped down upon her own family, “yo’all gits outa heah an’ don’t fuss me.”
“They can come with me,” offered Ricky. “I’m trying to find that maze which is marked on the garden plans.”
“Miss ’Chanda, yo’all ain’t a’goin’ ’way ’afo’ yoah brothah gits through his wo’k. He done tol’ me to keep an eye on yo’all. Why don’t yo’all go visit wi’ Miss Charity?”
Ricky looked at her watch. “All right. She’ll be through her morning work by now. I’ll take the children, Lucy.”
To Val’s open surprise, she obeyed Lucy, meekly moving off without a single protest. One of the boys remained behind and offered shyly to take the horse back to Sam’s place. When Lucy agreed that it would be all right, Val boosted him into the saddle where he clung like a jockey.
“An’ wheah is yo’all goin’, Mistuh Val?” asked Lucy, cutting out round cookies with a downward stroke of the drinking glass she had pressed into service. The regular cutter was, in her opinion, too small.
“Down toward the bayou. I’ll be back before lunch,” he said, and hurried out before she could as definitely dispose of him as she had of Ricky.
Val struck off into the bushes until he came to one of the paths that crossed the wilderness. As it ran in the direction of the bayou, he turned into it. Then for the second time he came into the glen of the pool and passed along the path Jeems had known. So somehow Val was not surprised, when he came out upon the edge of the bayou levee, to see Jeems sitting there.
“Hello!”
The swamper looked up at Val’s hail but this time he did not leave.
“Hullo,” he answered sullenly.
Val stood there, ill at ease, while the swamper eyed him composedly. What could he say now? Val’s embarrassment must have been very apparent, for after a long moment Jeems smiled derisively.
“Yo’ goin’ ridin’ in them funny pants?” he asked, pointing to the other’s breeches.
“Well, that’s what they are intended for,” Val replied.
“Wheah’s youah hoss?”
“I sent him back to Sam’s.” Val was beginning to feel slightly warm. He decided that Jeems’ manners were not all that they might be.
“Sam!” the swamp boy spat into the water. “He’s a—”
But what Sam was, in the opinion of the swamper, Val never learned, for at that moment Ricky burst from between two bushes.
“Well, at last,” she panted, “I’ve gotten rid of my army. Val, do you think that Lucy is going to be like this all the time—order us about, I mean?”
“Who’s that?” Jeems was on his feet looking at Ricky.
“Ricky,” her brother said, “this is Jeems. My sister Richanda.”
“Yo’ one of the folks up at the big house?” he asked her directly.
“Why, yes,” she answered simply.
“Yo’ don’ act like yo’ was.” He stabbed his finger at both of them. “Yo’ don’t walk with youah noses in the air looking down at us—”
“Of course we don’t!” interrupted Ricky. “Why should we, when you know more about this place than we do?”
“What do yo’ mean by that?” he flashed out at her, his sullen face suddenly dark.
“Why—why—” Ricky faltered, “Charity Biglow
