"You see, if it is wrong for me to go riding on Sunday," went on Miss
Lady, "it's wrong for you to go fishing. Suppose we both reform and
stay at home?"
The Colonel's eyes involuntarily flew to his cherished tackle, lying
ready for action on the top step, then they came back with a snap to
the top of a locust tree.
Miss Lady squeezed his arm and laughed: "Of course you don't want to
stay at home this glorious afternoon, neither do I! Now, that's
settled. Here comes Noah; I'll go and fix your lunch."
It was not by any means the first time the daughter of the house of
Carsey had scored in a contest with her father. His subjection had
begun on that morning now nearly twenty years ago, when she had been
placed in his arms, a motherless bundle of helplessness without even a
personal name to begin life with.
That question of a name had baffled him. He had consulted all the
neighbors, considered all the possibilities in the back of the
dictionary, and even had recourse to the tombstones in the old
cemetery, but the haunting fear that in days to come she might not
like his choice, held him back from a final decision. In the meanwhile
she was "The Little Lady," then "Lady," and finally through the
negroes it got to be "Miss Lady.
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