Part 21 (1/2)

”So do all the women. But who's going to bell the cat?” asked Big Josh.

”I reckon we'll have to go in a body and speak in chorus,” suggested Little Josh. It was thus decided, after much argument. All the cousins were willing to contribute something towards the support of the old lady, but n.o.body was willing or able to take her in his home.

”Of course, we must provide for old Billy, too.”

”Of course!”

”Well, after dinner all of you ride out to Buck Hill and there wait on the poor old thing and together we can break the news to her. It's going to make me feel awfully bad,” declared Mr. Bob Bucknor.

”I reckon we'll all feel bad, but none of us must weaken,” bl.u.s.tered Big Josh. ”And while we are discussing family matters, how about this talk about that pretty Miss Judith Buck being a cousin?”

”The women folk have settled that. At least mine have; and since we are the closest neighbors there at Buck Hill--” began Bob Bucknor.

”You may be the closest neighbors, but you are not the closest kin.

I'm for taking her into the clan. By golly, we haven't got too many pretty women in our family to be turning any down. I tell you, I'm going to call on her. Owe her a party call anyhow.” Thus rumbled Big Josh.

”Better not,” warned Mr. Bob Bucknor and then, since the clan were having dinner at the hotel where ”you could” and a feeling of good cheer had begun to permeate the diners, Mr. Bucknor proceeded to tell the story, of course in the strictest confidence, about Tom Harbison and the milk can, all of which went to convince others beside Big Josh that Judith might prove a valuable acquisition to the family.

”I reckon she's coped with worse than our women,” said Little Josh.

”With poverty staring her in the face and old d.i.c.k Buck for a grandfather, she's kept her head up and made a living and got a tidy bank account, so I hear. All by herself, too! I think I'll call when you do, Big Josh, but I'll fight shy of the milk cans.”

So it was voted that Judith was to be received into the family, Mr.

Bob Bucknor making a mental reservation that he would not divulge the news to his wife and daughters until they were well out of Kentucky.

He had strong hopes that European travel might soften the hearts of his daughters towards their pretty, red-haired cousin and neighbor.

”While we've got a little Dutch courage left, let's go on out to Buck Hill and tackle Cousin Ann,” said Big Josh. ”Now remember, all at once and n.o.body backing out and coughing. Everybody speak up strong and all together.”

A handsome family of men they were, taken all in all--handsome and prosperous, good citizens, honorable, upright, courageous--but this thing of deliberately getting together to inform a poor old woman that no longer would their several homes be ready to receive her made them seem to themselves anything but admirable.

”Darn the women folks, I say!” rumbled Big Josh. ”If they weren't so selfish and bent on their own pleasure we would not have to be doing this miserable thing.”

”Perhaps if we had helped them a little with Cousin Ann they wouldn't be kicking so,” humbly suggested Little Josh.

”Help them! Help them! How in Pete's name could we help them any more?

I am sure I have allowed Cousin Ann to give me a lamp mat every Christmas since I was born and my attic is full of her hoop skirts.” A smile went the rounds and Big Josh subsided.

Buck Hill never looked more hospitable or attractive, as the cousins speeded up the driveway--two cars full of Kentucky blue blood. The gently rolling meadows dotted with grazing cattle, the great friendly beech trees on the shaven lawn, the monthly roses in the garden, the ever-blooming honeysuckle clambering over the summer-house seemed to cry out, ”Welcome to all!”

”Gee! Poor Cousin Ann!” muttered one. ”No wonder she likes to stay here.”

An unwonted silence fell on the group, as they tiptoed up the front walk. They could not have said why they walked so quietly, but had they been called on to serve as pall bearers to their aged relative they would not have entered into the duty with any greater solemnity.

Aunt Em'ly appeared at the front door.

”Lawsamussy, Ma.r.s.e Bob, you done give me a turn,” she gasped, bobbing a courtesy to the a.s.sembled gentlemen. ”Is you done et?”

”Yes, yes, Aunt Em'ly, we have had dinner, but we should like to--”