If Dahlia had known that every movement she and Brutus had made, and every word they had spoken, had been seen and heard by Melanie Wilkerson, the black servant would have died in horror. But Melanie had no intention of reporting on the lusty black couple. She merely wanted to find out what it was that they did in the barn which was so exciting.

The crafty blonde belle waited until the big barn door swung shut behind Dahlia. Then, she darted across the kitchen and out the screen door, and rapidly and noiselessly approached the barn.

Having been raised on her father's estate, she knew every nook and cranny like the back of her hand. And Melanie knew how to get into the hay loft in the barn without having to go through the door.

She hurried around to the back of the barn. A window high up led into the hay loft, and a thick rope dangled to the ground from a nail several inches below the window. Knots at various intervals in the rope made foot and hand-holds.

Though she behaved very much like a lady in public, the instincts of a tomboyish girlhood still remained intact in Melanie's lively form, and she had no trouble at all clambering up the rope once she had kicked off her shoes. She peered cautiously over the edge of the window, and then slipped inside. She crawled on all fours through the hay until her face reached the square hole that looked down into the barn. She heard the restless stirring and neighing of the horses, and the sighs and moans of two other beings.

Peering over the trap door, she found to her delight that she had a perfect view of the illicit scene that was unfolding beneath her.

Brutus had taken Dahlia into one of the empty horse stalls. A ray of sunlight made its way through a crack in the barn wall and bathed the two lovers in a golden honeyed beam.

The black stud was kissing Dahlia hungrily, and he had hoisted up her skirts and was running his big coarse hands over the luscious, smooth lobes of her tush.