front was the high pillared porch, semicircular, extending to the roof with a balcony in the second story. On the right was a broad veranda looking toward a wide lawn, with the main road and the red swamp in the distance.
The butler met them, all obeisance.
‚ÄúAsk Miss Helen to come down,‚Äù said Mr. ¬ÝCresswell.
Sam glanced at him.
‚ÄúMiss Helen will be dreadful sorry, but she and the Colonel have just gone to town‚ÅÝ‚ÄîI believe her Aunty ain‚Äôt well.‚Äù
Mr. ¬ÝCresswell looked annoyed.
“Well, well! that’s too bad,” he said. “But at any rate, have a seat a moment out here on the veranda, Miss Taylor. And, Sam, can’t you find us a sandwich and something cool? I could not be so inhospitable as to send you away hungry at this time of day.”
Miss Taylor sat down in a comfortable low chair facing the refreshing breeze, and feasted her eyes on the scene. Oh, this was life: a smooth green lawn, and beds of flowers, a vista of brown fields, and the dark line of wood beyond. The deft, quiet butler brought out a little table, spread with the whitest of cloths and laid with the brightest of silver, and ‚Äúfound‚Äù a dainty lunch. There was a bit of fried chicken breast, some crisp bacon, browned potatoes, little round beaten biscuit, and rose-colored sherbet with a whiff of wine in it. Miss Taylor wondered a little at the bounty of Southern hospitality; but she was hungry, and she ate heartily, then leaned back dreamily and listened to Mr. ¬ÝCresswell‚Äôs smooth Southern r ‚Äôs, adding a word here and there that kept the conversation going and brought a grave smile to his pale lips. At last with a sigh she arose to her feet.