"My intentions are all right, Betty," he assured her in
extenuation. "But I've the worst memory imaginable. Oh, yes,
the lower terrace is badly gullied, but it's no great matter, it
can be fixed with a little work."
It was soon plain to Betty that Tom's ideals, if he possessed
any, had not led him in the direction of what he termed display.
His social impulse had suffered atrophy. The house was utterly
disorganized; there was a dearth of suitable servants. Those she
had known were gone--sold, she learned. Tom explained that there
had been no need for them since he had lived pretty much in his
office, what had been the use in keeping darkies standing about
doing nothing? He had got rid of those show niggers and put
their price in husky field hands, who could be made to do a day's
work and not feel they were abused.
But Tom was mistaken in his supposition that Betty would soon
tire of Belle Plain. She demanded men, and teams, and began on
the lawns. This interested and fascinated her. She was out at
sun-up to direct her laborers. She had the advantage of Charley
Norton's presence and advice for the greater part of each day in
the week, and Sundays he came to look over what had been
accomplished, and, as Tom firmly believed, to put that little
fool up to fresh nonsense. He could have booted him!
As the grounds took shape before her delighted eyes, Betty found
leisure to institute a thorough reformation indoors. A number of
house servants were rescued from the quarters and she began to
instruct them in their new duties.
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