mammy ter fight if any er us chillns tuck ter sassin' a Bollin'," whined the old man.
Philip laughed. "Of course you won't. I am just telling you, you won't. As for Aunt Peachy: I'd be very glad if you tell her exactly what I have told you."
"Fo' Gawd, Phup—Mr. Phup, Mam' Peachy'd lay me out if I carried any sich tale ter her. You think I's been a bossin' this here fawm, but I ain't never bossed none, Mr. Phup, no mo'n yo' paw ever bossed it, er yo' grampaw befo' him. Mam' Peachy air a been bossin' The Hedges fer goin' on a hundred years. We takes our orders fum her. To be sho' she gits Marse Rolfe ter han' it on ter us, but she air the maindes' pusson ter be reckoned with."
"Well, after this you take your orders from me." Philip said no more on the subject, but continued his inspection of the farm. He carried a pencil and tablet with him and carefully noted the things that needed his immediate attention. The fences were in a deplorable condition and the outhouses were crying out for new shingles or to be propped up. The silo was on the slant of the Leaning Tower of Pisa. Neither paint nor whitewash had been applied to any of the buildings for at least twenty years. Stables and barns were dirty. Farm imple-
