The three greeted him simultaneously, whereupon he leaned forward, resting his hand upon the side of the carriage.

“The young folks are growing up,” he said.  “I have just seen Juliet Burwell, and, on my life, she gets prettier every day.  We shan’t keep her long.”

“Keep her!” replied the general vigorously, wiping his large face with a large pocket handkerchief.  “Keep her!  If I were thirty years younger, you shouldn’t keep her a day—­not a day, sir.”

The little girl looked up gravely from the corner of the seat, tossing her short, dark plait from her shoulder.  “What would you do with her, papa?” she asked.  “We’ve got no place to put her at home.”

The general threw back his great head and laughed till his wide girth shook like a bag of meal.

“Oh, you needn’t worry, Eugie,” he said.  “I’m not the man I used to be.  She wouldn’t look at me.  Bless your heart, she wouldn’t look at me if I asked her—­”

Eugenia clasped her puppy closer and turned her eyes upon her father’s jovial face.

“I don’t see how she could help it if you stood in front of her,” she answered gravely, in a voice rich with the blending of negro intonations.

The general shook again until the carriage creaked on its rusty springs, and the coloured boy, Sampson, let the reins fall and joined in the hilarity.

“She won’t let me so much as look at a girl!” exclaimed the general delightedly, stooping to recover the brown linen lap robe which had slipped from his knees.  “She’s as jealous as if I were twenty and had a score of sweethearts.”

The little girl did not reply, but she flushed angrily.  “Don’t, precious,” she said to the puppy, who was licking her cheek with his warm, red tongue.

“What have you named him, Eugie?” asked the judge, changing the subject with that gracious tact which was mindful of the least emergency.  “He is nicely marked, I see.”

“I call him Jim,” replied Eugenia.  She spoke gravely, and the gravity contrasted oddly with the animation of her features.  “But his real name is James Burwell Battle.  Bernard and I christened him in the spring-house—­so he’ll go to heaven.”

“Cap’n Burwell gave him to her, you know,” explained the general, who laughed whenever his daughter spoke, as if the fact of her talking at all was a source of amazement to him, “and she hasn’t let go of him since she got him.  By the way, Judge, you have a first-rate garden spot.  I hear your asparagus is the finest in town.  Ours is very poor this year.  I must have a new bed made before next season.  Ah, what is it, daughter?”

“You’ve forgotten to buy the sugar,” said Eugenia, “and Aunt Chris can’t put up her preserves.  And you told me to remind you of the whip—­”

“Bless your heart, so I did.  Sampson lost that whip a month ago, and I’ve never remembered it yet.  Well, good-day—­good-day.”

The judge raised his hat with a stately inclination; the general nodded good-naturedly, still grasping the linen robe with his plump, red hand; and the carriage jolted along the green and disappeared behind the glazed brick walls of the church.