Frank smiled at the thought of his dear Aunt, precise and elegant,
compelled to spend the night in a construction camp beneath
white-canvas.

"What did Aunt 'Lethe think about a night in tents?" he asked.

"Lawd," said Neb, plainly trying to gather bravery for something which
he wished to say, "I didn't ax huh. Too busy with my worryin'."

"Worrying at what, Neb?"

"Oveh dat Miss Holton an' her father."

"Mr. Holton didn't come, too, did he?"

"No; he didn't come wid us, suh; but he met us dar down by de railroad.
Wasn't lookin' for him, an' I guess he wasn't lookin', jus' exactly, to
see us. But he was dar an' now he's jus' a membuh of ouah pahty, suh, as
good as Cunnel Doolittle. Hit don't seem right to me, suh; no suh, hit
don't seem right to me."

"Why, Neb!"

"An' dat Miss Barbara! She was dead sot to see you, an' Miss 'Lethe was
compelled to ax her fo' to come along. She didn't mean to, fust off; no
suh. But she had to, in de end. Den I war plumb beat when I saw Mister
Holton stalkin' up dat platfohm like he owned it an' de railroad an' de
hills, and de hull yearth. But he's bettuh heah dan down at home, Marse
Frank. He don't _belong_ down in de bluegrass."