Dinner was ready—more than ready. Aunt Testy had held it back a few minutes in the hope that Rebecca would come in time to miss the stern reprimands she was sure to get from the Misses Taylor.
"Miss Myra an' Miss Evelyn ain't got nothin' on Gawd's green yearth ter do but pick on that lamb," she muttered as she brought in the dinner. The clock hands pointed to ten minutes to three, and the ladies were evidently impatient. Spottswood still was irritated over the occurrence at noon. He wondered where his dog was, too; had missed him and whistled for him repeatedly.
"Dinner is late enough," he grumbled, as he took his seat at the foot of the table.
"Hush! Testy will hear you!" exclaimed his sisters.
"Well, why shouldn't she hear me?" he asked.
"Testy doesn't like criticism," answered Myra.
"Neither do any of us, but we have to put up with it occasionally."
"Where is Rebecca?" asked Evelyn. "She is such a trial! We ask only a few things of her, but she makes no attempt to comply with our wishes. I am sure she is no kin to us at all. As a family all of us are prompt."
"Lil' Marse Tom useter fergit sometime, spe-
