"It's twelve o'clock. I wonder what Mammy is thinking," was Jean's irrelevant answer.

"Does Mammy think for the family?" asked the Professor, a funny smile lurking about the corners of his mouth.

Jean's eyes twinkled as she answered:

"She was _mother's_ Mammy too."

"Ah! I think I understand. I lived South until I was fifteen."

"Did you? How old are you now?" was the second startling question.

"How old should you think?" was the essentially Yankee reply, which proved that the southern lad had learned a trick or two from his northern friends.

Jean regarded him steadily for a few moments.

"Well, when you raised your hat a few minutes ago your hair looked a little thin on _top_, so I guess you're going to be bald pretty soon.

But your eyes, when you laugh, look just about like the boys'. Perhaps you aren't so very old though. Maybe you aren't much older than Mr.

Stuyvesant. Do you know him?"

"Yes, I know him. He is younger than I am though." The Professor did not add "exactly six months."

"Yes, I thought you were lots older. He's the kind you _feel_ is young and you're the kind you feel is old, you know."

"Oh, am I? Wherein lies the difference, may I inquire?" The voice sounded a trifle nettled.

"Why I should think anyone could understand _that_," was the surprised reply. "Mr. Stuyvesant is the kind of a man who knows what children are thinking right down inside themselves all the time. They don't have to explain things to _him_ at all. Why the day I found Baltie he knew just as well how I felt about having him shot, and I knew just as well as anything that _he'd_ take care of him and make it all right.

We're great friends. I love him dearly."

"Whom? Baltie?"

"Now there! What did I tell you? _That's_ why _you_ are _years_ and _years_ older than Mr. Stuyvesant. He _would'nt_ have had to say 'Whom? Baltie?' He'd just know such things without having to ask." The tone was not calculated to inspire self-esteem.

"Hum," answered the man who could easily have told anyone the distance of Mars from the earth and many another scientific fact. "I think I'm beginning to comprehend what const.i.tutes age."

"Yes," resumed Jean as she flapped the reins upon Baltie who seemed to be lapsing into a dreamy frame of mind. "You can't always tell _how_ old a person is by just looking at 'em. Maybe you aren't nearly as old as I think you are, though I guess you can't be far from forty, and that's pretty bad. But if you'd sort of get gay and jolly, and try to think how you felt when you were little, or maybe even as big as the boys back yonder, you wouldn't seem any older to me than Mr.

Stuyvesant."

The big eyes were regarding him with the closest scrutiny as though their owner wished to avoid falling into any error concerning him.

"Think perhaps I'll try it. It may prove worth while," and the Professor fell into a brown study while old Baltie plodded on and Jean let her thoughts outstrip his slow progress. At the other end of her commercial venture lay a reckoning as well she knew, and like most reckonings it held an element of doubt as well as of hope. It was nearly one o'clock when they came to the outskirts of Riveredge. The pretty town was quite deserted for it was luncheon hour. When they reached the foot of Hillside street, Jean said:

"This is my street; I have to go up here," and drew up to the sidewalk for her pa.s.senger to descend. He seemed in no haste to take the hint, and Jean began to wonder if he would turn out a regular old man of the sea. Before she could frame a speech both positive and polite as a suggestion for his next move, her ears were a.s.sailed by:

"Bress Gawd, ef dar aint dat pesterin' chile dis very minit! What I gwine _do_ wid yo'? Jis' tell me dat?" and Mammy came puffing and panting down the hill like a runaway steam-roller.

Professor Forbes roused himself from the reverie in which he had apparently been indulging for several moments, and stepping from the phaeton to the sidewalk, advanced a step or two toward the formidable object bearing down upon him, and raising his hat as though saluting a royal personage, said:

"I think I have the pleasure of addressing Mammy----_Blairsdale_."

CHAPTER XV

The Reckoning

The descending steam-roller slowed down and finally came to a standstill within a few feet of the Professor, too non-plussed even to snort or pant, while that imperturbable being stood hat in hand in the sharp January air, and smiled upon it. There was something in the smile that caused the steam-roller to reconsider its plan of action, rapidly formed while descending the hill, for great had been the consternation throughout the dwelling which housed it, and the cause of all that consternation was now within reach of justice.

"Mammy Blairsdale?" repeated the Professor suavely.

"Mammy Blairsdale," echoed that worthy being, although the words were not quite so blandly spoken.

"I am glad to make your acquaintance, Mammy. I have taken the liberty of escorting this young lady back home. She is very entertaining, and extremely practical, as well as enterprising. I am sure you will find her a successful cooperator. She has done a most flourishing business this morning."

"B'isness! B'isness! For de Lawd's sake wha' dat chile been at now, an' we all cl'ar 'stracted 'bout her? Whar yo' bin at? Tell me dis minute. An' yo' ma, and Miss Constance and me jist plumb crazy 'bout you and dat hawse."

The Professor attempted to put in a word of explanation, but a wave of Mammy's hand effectually silenced him and motioned him aside, as she stepped closer to the phaeton. Baltie had instantly recognized her voice and as she drew nearer, nickered.

"Yas, Baltie hawse, what dat chile been doin' wid yo'?" she said softly as she laid her hand upon the old horse's neck. But the more resolute tone was resumed as she turned again to the phaeton, and demanded: "I wanter know wha' yo's been. You hear me? We's done chased de hull town ober fer yo' an' dat hawse, an' yo' ma done teken de trolley fer Souf Riveraige, kase someone done say dey seed yo' a gwine off dat-a-way. Now whar in de name o' man _is_ yo' been ter?"

"I've been out to the Irving School selling your old _candy_, and your cousins-in-the-Lord, over in South Riveredge, can _wait_ a while for some. You and Connie thought you could fool me with your old talk but you couldn't; I found out _all_ about it. _She_ makes it and _you_ sell it, and now _I've_ sold it--yes every single package--and there's your money; I don't want it, but I've proved that I _can_ help mother, so there now!" and, figuratively speaking, Jean hurled at Mammy's feet the gauntlet, in the shape of her handkerchief, in which she had carefully tied the proceeds of her morning's sale, a no mean sum, by the way. Then, bounding out of the old phaeton, tore up the hill like a small whirlwind, leaving Mammy and the Professor to stare after her open-mouthed. The latter was the first to recover his speech.

"Well, really! Quite vehement! Good deal of force in a small body."

"Fo'ce! Well yo' ain' know dat chile ten years lak _I_ is. She cl'ar break loose some times, an' dis hyre's one ob 'em. But I 'spicioned dat she's done teken dat box o' candy. Minit my back turned out she fly wid it. An' sell hit, too? What _yo'_ know 'bout it, sar? Is yo'

see her?"

"I certainly did, and I haven't seen such a sight in some time. She's a good bit of a metaphysician into the bargain," and in a few words Professor Forbes told of the morning's business venture, and the lively experiences of the young merchant, Mammy listening attentively, only now and again uttering an expressive "Um-m! Uh-h!" When he had finished she looked at him sharply and said:

"You know what dat chile' oughter be named? Wal, suh, Scape-many-dangers would fit her pine blank. De Lawd on'y knows what she gwine tu'n out, but hits boun' ter be one ting or turrer; she gwine be de banginest one ob de hull lot, or she gwine be jist nothin'

but a little debbil. Now, suh, who is _yo'_?"

The concluding question was sprung upon the Professor so suddenly that he nearly jumped. He looked at the old woman a moment, the suggestion of a twinkle in the eyes behind the big gla.s.ses, then answered soberly:

"I might be termed a knight errant I presume; I've been guarding a young lady from the perils of the highway."

"Night errand? 'Tain't no night errand as _I_ kin see. Can't be much broader day dan tis dis minute," retorted Mammy, looking up at the blazing luminary directly over her head by way of proving her a.s.sertion. "If you's on a errand dat's yo' b'isness; 'taint mine. But I'd lak ter know yo' name suh, so's I kin tell Miss Jinny."

"Is Miss Jinny the older sister who manufactures that delicious candy?" asked the Professor, as he drew his card case from his pocket and handed Mammy his card.

"No, suh, she's _my_ Miss Jinny: Miss Jinny Blairsdale; I mean Carruth. My mistis. Dat chile's mother. Thank yo', suh. I'll han' her dis cyard. Is she know yo', suh?"

"No, I haven't the pleasure of Mrs. Carruth's acquaintance though I hope to before long. (Mammy made a slight sound through her half-closed lips.) My grandmother was a Blairsdale."

"Open sesame" was a trifling talisman compared with the name of Blairsdale.

"Wha', wha', wha', yo say, suh?" demanded Mammy, stammering in her excitement. "Yo's a Blairsdale?"