"This," he announced, "is Jones, the Baptist preacher--begging."

"Ah, lady,"--in mellow, unctuous tones--"I don't know what we poor black
folks would do without Mr. Cresswell--the Lord bless him," said the
minister, shoving his hand far down into his pocket.

Shortly afterward they were approaching the Cresswell Mansion, when the
young man reined in the horse.

"If you wouldn't mind," he suggested, "I could introduce my sister to
you."

"I should be delighted," answered Miss Taylor, readily.

When they rolled up to the homestead under its famous oaks the hour was
past one. The house was a white oblong building of two stories. In front
was the high pillared porch, semi-circular, extending to the roof with a
balcony in the second story. On the right was a broad verandah looking
toward a wide lawn, with the main road and the red swamp in the
distance.

The butler met them, all obeisance.

"Ask Miss Helen to come down," said Mr. Cresswell.

Sam glanced at him.

"Miss Helen will be dreadful sorry, but she and the Colonel have just
gone to town--I believe her Aunty ain't well."