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Updated: September 25, 2025
"Hush," Becky waved a warning hand. "There is," said the Judge, in a declamatory manner, "everything in a name. The Bannisters of Huntersfield, the Paines of King's Crest, the Randolphs of Cloverdale, do you think these things don't count, Truxton?" "I think there's a lot of rot in it," said young Beaufort, "when we were fighting for democracy over there " The shot told.
It is what we know of ourselves, Mary," she drew a quick breath. "It is what we know of ourselves " Becky was wearing the simple frock of pale blue in which George had seen her on that first night when he came to Huntersfield. "Aren't you going to change?" Mary asked. "No. It is too much trouble." Becky was in front of the mirror. Her pearls caught the light of the candles.
Night after night he had ridden towards Huntersfield, only to turn back before he reached the lower gate. Once he had ventured on foot as far as the garden, and in the hush had called softly, "Becky." But no one had answered. He wondered what he would have done if Becky had responded to his call.
If you had enough of it the world was yours! Year after year the Bannisters of Huntersfield had eaten their Horse Show luncheon under a clump of old oaks beneath which the horses now stopped. The big trees were dropping golden leaves in the dryness. From the rise of the hill one looked down on the grandstand and the crowd as from the seats of an amphitheater.
I had such hopes for him, Becky. He could have married anybody." Becky knew the kind of woman that Aunt Claudia had wanted Truxton to marry one whose ancestors were like those whose portraits hung in the hall at Huntersfield a woman with a high-held head a woman whose family traditions paralleled those of the Bannisters and Beauforts. "Then Fiddle is Truxton's child."
Back among the shadows twinkled a priceless mirror; shutting off Calvin's serving table was a painted screen worth its weight in gold. It was a far cry from the catsup bottles and squalid service of George's early days. The Bannisters of Huntersfield wore their poverty like a plume! The Judge carried Dalton off presently to the Bird Room. George went with reluctance.
The dogs followed, and Mary from the other side of the stream watched the little procession, Calvin in the lead with the load, the Judge straight and slim with his fluff of white hair, the three little dogs paddling on their short legs. "Judge Bannister of Huntersfield," said Mary Flippin. Then she raised Fiddle high in her arms. "Say Granddad, Fiddle," she whispered, "say Granddad."
"I shall sleep well to-night because of to-morrow." But when to-morrow came there was a telephone message for Becky that Major Prime and his wife were in town. They had messages for her from Huntersfield, and from King's Crest. "And so our day is spoiled," said Archibald. "We can come again," said the Admiral, "but we must be getting back to Siasconset to-morrow. I wrote to Tristram.
I always go back to Huntersfield for Christmas." After that it was decided that she should sit for him each morning. They did not speak again of Randy. There had been something in Becky's manner which kept Archibald from saying more. When they reached the lighthouse, the wind was blowing strongly.
I had such hopes for him, Becky. He could have married anybody." Becky knew the kind of woman that Aunt Claudia had wanted Truxton to marry one whose ancestors were like those whose portraits hung in the hall at Huntersfield a woman with a high-held head a woman whose family traditions paralleled those of the Bannisters and Beauforts. "Then Fiddle is Truxton's child."
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