"And YOUR name?" asked the Massa Captain of quaking number three.

There was a long, significant pause, then contortions as though number
three were suffering from a violent attack of colic. At length, after
two or three futile attempts he blurted out:

"I'se--I'se Billyus, sah!"

There was a terrific explosion, then Neil Stewart tossed the redoubtable
Billyus a quarter, crying: "You win," and walked away with Peggy, his
laughter now and again borne back to his beneficiaries.

Peggy never knew where that month slipped to with its long rides on
Shashai, Daddy Neil riding the Emperor, the magnificent sire of all the
small fry upon the place, from those who had already gone, or were about
to be sent out into the great world beyond the limits of Severndale, to
Roy, the latest arrival. Neil Stewart wondered and marveled more and
more as each day slipped by.

Then, too, were the delightful paddles far up the Severn in Peggy's
canoe, exploring unsuspected little creeks, with now and again a bag in
the wild, lonely reaches of the river, followed by a delicious little
supper of broiled birds, done to a turn by Aunt Cynthia. There were,
too, moonlight sails in Peggy's little half-rater, which she handled
with a master hand. As a rule, one of the boys accompanied her, for the
mainsail and centerboard were pretty heavy for her to handle unaided,
but with Daddy Neil on board--well, not much was left to be desired.
During that month Peggy learned "how lightly falls the foot of time
which only treads on flowers," and was appalled when she realized that
only five more days remained of her father's leave.