Sandy had got quite in the habit of watching for her
at the side window where she came to study. He leaned forward now to
see if she were there.
"I thought so!" cried Mrs. Hollis, looking over his shoulder. "There
comes the Nelson phaeton this minute! Melvy, get on your white apron.
I'll wind up the cuckoo-clock and unlock the parlor door."
"Who is it?" ventured Sandy, with internal tremors.
"Hit's Mrs. Nelson an' her niece, Miss Rufe," said Aunt Melvy,
nervously trying to reverse her apron after tying the bow in the
front. "Dey's big bugs, dey is. Dey is quality, an' no mistake. I
b'longed to Miss Rufe's grandpaw; he done lef' her all his money, she
an' Mr. Carter. Poor Mr. Carter! Dey say he ain't got no lungs to
speak of. Ain't no wonder he's sorter wild like. He takes after his
grandpaw, my ole mars'. Lor', honey, de mint-juleps jus' nachelly ooze
outen de pores ob his grandpaw's skin! But Miss Rufe she ain't like
none ob dem Nelsons; she favors her maw. She's quality inside an'
out."
A peal of the bell cut short further interesting revelations. Aunt
Melvy hurried through the hall, leaving doors open behind her. At the
front door she paused in dismay. Before her stood the Nelsons in
calling attire, presenting two immaculate cards for her acceptance.
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