by Frances Boyd Calhoun (Author)

The little boy carelessly drew the back of his hand across his mouth. "What are you doing?" she asked. "Are you wiping my kiss off?" "Naw 'm," he replied, "I's jest a-I's a-rubbin' it in, I reckon." "Come in, William," and his aunt led the way through the wide hall into w big bedroom. "Billy, ma'am," corrected her nephew. "William," firmly repeated Miss Minerva. "You may have been called Billy on that plantation where you were allowed to run wild with the negroes, but your name is William Green Hill and I shall insist upon your being called by it.