"We'll walk round by the cemetery, if you like; it will take about as
long as a drive." Courtland vanished, gave hurried instructions and a
dollar to a lounging negro, and rejoined Miss Sally as the delighted and
proud freedman drove out of the gate. Miss Sally heaved a slight sigh
as the gallant equipage passed. "It was a mighty pooty turnout, co'nnle,
and I'd have just admired to go, but it would have been rather hard on
the other folks. There's the Reeds and Maxwells and Robertsons that are
too pooah to keep blood horses, and too proud to ride behind anything
else. It wouldn't be the right thing for us to go whirling by,
scattering our dust over them." There was something so subtly pleasant
in this implied partnership of responsibility, that Courtland forgot
the abrupt refusal and thought only of the tact that prompted it.
Nevertheless, here a spell seemed to fall upon his usually ready speech.
Now that they were together for the first time in a distinctly social
fashion, he found himself vacantly, meaninglessly silent, content to
walk beside this charming, summery presence, brushed by its delicate
draperies, and inhaling its freshness. Presently it spoke.

"It would take more than a thousand feet of lumber to patch up the
cowsheds beyond the Moseley pasture, and an entirely new building with
an improved dairy would require only about two thousand more. All the
old material would come in good for fencing, and could be used with
the new post and rails. Don't yo' think it would be better to have an
out-and-out new building?"

"Yes, certainly," returned Courtland a little confusedly. He had
not calculated upon this practical conversation, and was the more
disconcerted as they were passing some of the other couples, who had
purposely lingered to overhear them.