[Illustration: "'THANK THE LORD! _NOW I CAN SEE TO LOOK FOR 'EM!_'"]

MORIAH'S MOURNING

and Other Half-Hour Sketches

By RUTH MCENERY STUART

_Author of "In Simpkinsville""A Golden Wedding" etc. _

WITH ILLUSTRATIONS

LONDON AND NEW YORKHARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS1898

Copyright, 1898, by Harper & Brothers. _All rights reserved. _

_Printed in New York, U. S. A. _

CONTENTS

 PAGE

MORIAH'S MOURNING 3

AN OPTICAL DILEMMA 19

THE SECOND MRS. SLIMM 37

APOLLO BELVEDERE. A CHRISTMAS EPISODE OF THE PLANTATION 53

NEAREST OF KIN (ON THE PLANTATION) 71

THE DEACON'S MEDICINE 93

TWO GENTLEMEN OF LEISURE 113

THE REV. JORDAN WHITE'S THREE GLANCES 131

LADY. A MONOLOGUE OF THE COW-PEN 157

A PULPIT ORATOR 165

AN EASTER SYMBOL. A MONOLOGUE OF THE PLANTATION 175

CHRISTMAS AT THE TRIMBLES' 181

A MINOR CHORD 211

ILLUSTRATIONS

"'THANK THE LORD! _NOW I CAN SEE TO LOOK FOR'EM!_'" _Frontispiece_

"A SURPRISED AND SMILING MAN WAS SITTING AT HERPOLISHED KITCHEN TABLE" _Facing p. _ 8

"'I'M AC-CHILLY MOST AFEERD _TO_ SEEYOU CONVERTED'" " 40

"'I PROMISED HIM I'D PUT ON MO'NIN' FOR HERSOON AS I MARRIED INTO DE FAMILY'" " 74

"SAYS SHE, 'OPEN YORE MOUTH!' AN' OF CO'SEI OPENED IT" " 98

"I DES LETS 'EM LOOSE P'OMISKYUS, TELLEV'YBODY SEE BLUE LIGHTNIN'" " 134

"SALVATION'S KYAR IS MOVIN'!" " 148

"'WON'T YER, PLEASE, SIR, SPELL DAT WORDOUT FUR ME SLOW?'" " 168

MORIAH'S MOURNING

Moriah was a widow of a month, and when she announced her intention ofmarrying again, the plantation held its breath. Then it roared withlaughter. 

Not because of the short period of her mourning was the news soincredible. But by a most exceptional mourning Moriah had put herselfupon record as the most inconsolable of widows. 

So prompt a readjustment of life under similar conditions was by nomeans unprecedented in colored circles. 

The rules governing the wearing of the mourning garb are by no meansstringent in plantation communities, and the widow who for reasons ofeconomy or convenience sees fit to wear out her colored garments duringher working hours is not held to account for so doing if she appear atall public functions clad in such weeds as she may find available. It isnot even needful, indeed, that her supreme effort should attain anydefinite standard. Anybody can collect a few black things, and there isoften an added pathos in the very incongruity of some of the mourningtoilettes that pass up the aisles of the colored churches. 

Was not the soul of artlessness expressed in the first mourning of acertain young widow, for instance, who sewed upon her blue gown all theblack trimming she could collect, declaring that she "would 'a' dyed defrock th'oo an' th'oo 'cep'n' it would 'a' swunked it up too much"? Andperhaps her sympathetic companions were quite as _naïve_ as she, for, as they aided her in these first hasty stitches, they poured upon herwounded spirit the healing oil of full and sympathetic approval, as thefollowing remarks will testify. 

"Dat frock mo'ns all right, now de black bows is on it. "

"You kin put any colored frock in mo'nin' 'cep'n' a red one. Sew blackon red, an' it laughs in yo' face. "

"I'm a-sewin' de black fringe on de josey, Sis Jones, 'case fringe hitmo'ns a heap mo'nfuler 'n ribbon do. "

Needless to say, a license so full and free as this found fineexpression in a field of flowering weeds quite rare and beautiful tosee. 

Moriah had proven herself in many ways an exceptional person even beforethe occasion of her bereavement, and in this, contrary to all precedent, she had rashly cast her every garment into the dye-pot, sparing not evenso much as her underwear. 

Moriah was herself as black as a total eclipse, tall, angular, andimposing, and as she strode down the road, clad in the sombre vestmentsof sorrow, she was so noble an expression of her own idea that as asimple embodiment of dignified surrender to grief she commanded respect. 

The plantation folk were profoundly impressed, for it had soon becomeknown that her black garb was not merely a thing of the surface. 

"Moriah sho' does mo'n for Numa. She mo'ns f'om de skin out. " Such waspopular comment, although it is said that one practical sister, to whomthis "inward mo'nin'" had little meaning, ventured so far as to protestagainst it. 

"Sis Moriah, " she said, timidly, as she sat waiting while Moriahdressed for church--"Sis Moriah, look ter me like you'd be 'feerd demblack shimmies 'd draw out some sort o' tetter on yo' skin, " to whichbit of friendly warning Moriah had responded, with a groan, and in avoice that was almost sepulchral in its awful solemnity, "_When I mo'nI mo'n!_"

Perhaps an idea of the unusual presence of this great black woman may beconveyed by the fact that when she said, as she was wont to do inspeaking of her own name, "I'm named Moriah--after a Bible mountain, "there seemed a sort of fitness in the name and in the juxtapositionneither the sacred eminence or the woman suffered a loss of dignity. 

And this woman it was who, after eight years of respectable wifehood andbut four weeks of mourning her lost mate, calmly announced that she wasto be married again. 

The man of her choice--I use the expression advisedly--was a neighborwhom she had always known, a widower whose bereavement was of threemonths' longer standing than her own. 

The courtship must have been brief and to the point, for it waspositively known that he and his _fiancée_ had met but three timesin the interval when the banns were published. 

He had been engaged to whitewash the kitchen in which she had pursuedher vocation as cook for the writer's family. 

The whitewashing was done in a single morning, but a second coating wasfound necessary, and it is said by one of her fellow-servants, whoprofesses to have overheard the remark, that while Pete was putting thefinishing-touches to the bit of chimney back of her stove, Moriah, whostooped at the oven door beside him, basting a roast turkey, lifted upher stately head and said, archly, breaking her mourning record for thefirst time by a gleaming display of ivory and coral as she spoke, "Who'd 'a' thought you'd come into my kitchen to do yo' _secon'co'tin'_, Pete?"

At which, so says our informant, the whitewash brush fell from thedelighted artisan's hands, and in a shorter time than is consumed in thetelling, a surprised and smiling man was sitting at her polished kitchentable chatting cosily with his mourning hostess, while she served himwith giblets and gravy and rice and potatoes "an' coffee b'iledexpressly. "

 [Illustration: "A SURPRISED AND SMILING MAN WAS SITTING AT HER POLISHED KITCHEN TABLE"]

It was discovered that the kitchen walls needed a third coating. Thistook an entire day, "because, " so said Pete, "de third coat, hit takesmo' time to soak in. "

And then came the announcement. Moriah herself, apparently in nowiseembarrassed by its burden, bore the news to us on the following morning. There was no visible change of front in her bearing as she presentedherself--no abatement of her mourning. 

"Mis' Gladys, " she said, simply, "I come ter give you notice dat I gwinetake fo' days off, startin' nex' Sunday. "

"I hope you are not in any new trouble, Moriah?" I said, sympathetically. 

"Well, I don' know ef I is or not. Me an' Pete Pointdexter, we donetalked it over, an' we come ter de conclusion ter marry. "

I turned and looked at the woman--at her black garments, her stillserious expression. Surely my hearing was playing me false. But catchingmy unspoken protest, she had already begun to explain. 

"Dey ain't no onrespec' ter de dead, Mis' Gladys, in _marryin'_, "she began. "De onrespec' is in de _carryin's on_ folks does _when_dey marry. Pete an' me, we 'low ter have eve'ything quiet an'solemncholy--an' pay all due respects--right an' left. Of co'se Pete'schillen stands up fur dey mammy, an' dey don't take no stock in himma'yin' ag'in. But Ca'line she been dead _long enough_--mos' sixmont's--countin' fo' weeks ter de mont'. An' as fur me, I done 'rangedter have eve'ything did ter show respec's ter Numa. " (Numa was herdeceased husband. ) "De organ-player he gwine march us in chu'ch by desame march he played fur Numa's fun'al, an' look like dat in itse'f isenough ter show de world dat I ain't forgot Numa. An', tell de trufe, Mis' Gladys, ef Numa was ter rise up f'om his grave, I'd sen' Petea-flyin' so fast you could sen' eggs to market on his coat tail. 

"You see, de trouble is I done had my eye on Pete's chillen ever sencedey mammy died, an' ef dey ever was a set o' onery, low-down, sassy, no-'count little niggers dat need takin' in hand by a able-bodiedstep-mammy, dey a-waitin' fur me right yonder in Pete's cabin. My handhas des nachelly itched to take aholt o' dat crowd many a day--an' eversence I buried Numa of co'se I see de way was open. An' des as soonas I felt like I could bring myse'f to it, I--well--Dey warn't nouse losin' time, an' so I _tol' you, missy, dat de kitchen need'white-washin'_. "

"And so you sent for him--and proposed to him, did you?"

"P'opose to who, Mis' Gladys? I'd see Pete in de sinkin' swamp 'fo' I'dp'opose to him!"

"Then how did you manage it, pray?"

"G'way, Mis' Gladys! Any wide-awake widder 'oman dat kin get a widderman whar he can't he'p but see her move round at her work for two dayshand-runnin', an' can't mesmerize him so's he'll ax her to marryhim--Um--hm! I'd ondertake ter do dat, even ef I warn't no cook; but widseasonin's an' flavors to he'p me--Law, chile! dey warn't no yearthly'scape fur dem chillen!

"I would 'a' waited, " she added, presently--"I would 'a' waited areas'nable time, 'cep'n dat Pete started gwine ter chu'ch, an' you knowyo'se'f, missy, when a well-favored widder man go ter seek consolationf'om de pulpit, he's might' ap' ter find it in de congergation. "

As I sat listening to her quiet exposition of her scheme, it seemedmonstrous. 

"And so, Moriah, " I spoke now with a ring of real severity in myvoice--"and so you are going to marry a man that you confess you don'tcare for, just for the sake of getting control of his children? Iwouldn't have believed it of you. "

"Well--partly, missy. " She smiled a little now for the first time. "Partly on dat account, an' partly on his'n. Pete's wife Ca'line, shewas a good 'oman, but she was mighty puny an' peevish; an' besides dat, she was one o' deze heah naggers, an' Pete is allus had a purty hardpull, an' I lay out ter give him a better chance. Eve'y bit o'whitewashin' he'd git ter do 'roun' town, Ca'line she'd swaller it inmedicine. But she was a good 'oman, Ca'line was. Heap o' deze heahnaggers is good 'omans! Co'se I don't say I _loves_ Pete, but I lookster come roun' ter 'im in time. Ef I didn't, I wouldn't have him. "

"And how about his loving you?"

"Oh, Mis' Gladys, you is so searching!" She chuckled. "Co'se he _say_he loves me already better'n he love Ca'line, but of co'se a widder manhe feels obleeged ter talk dat-a-way. An' ef he didn't have the mannerster say it, I wouldn't have him, to save his life; but _ef he meant it, I'd despise him_. After Ca'line lovin' de groun' he tread fur nine longyeahs, he ain't got no right ter love _no_ 'oman better'n he love herdes 'caze he's a-projec'in' ter git married to 'er. But of co'se, Mis'Gladys, I ca'culates ter outstrip Ca'line in co'se o' time. Ef Icouldn't do dat--an' she in 'er grave--_an' me a cook_--I wouldn'tcount myse'f much. An' den, time I outstrips her an' git him over, heart _an'_ soul, I'll know it by de signs. "

"Why will you know it more than you know it now? He can but swear it toyou. "

"Oh no, missy. When de rock bottom of a man's heart warms to a 'oman, heeases off f'om swearin' 'bout it. Deze heah men wha' swear so much, deyswear des as much ter convince deyselves as dey does ter ketch a 'oman'sear. No, missy. Time I got him heart _an'_ soul, I looks for him tocommence to th'ow up Ca'line's ways ter me. Heap of 'em does dat des terease dey own consciences an' pacify a dead 'oman's ghost. Dat's de way aman nachelly do. But he won't faze me, so long as I holds de fort! An'fur de chillen, co'se quick as I gits 'em broke in I'll see dat deywon't miss Ca'line none. Dat little teether, I done tol' Pete ter fetchher over ter me right away. Time I doctors her wid proper teas, an'washes her in good warm pot-liquor, I'll make a fus'-class baby out'nher. "

Moriah had always been a good woman, and as she stood before me, layingbare the scheme that, no matter what the conditions, had in it thesmallest selfish consideration, I felt my heart warm to her again, and Icould not but feel that the little whitewasher--a kindly, hard-pressedfamily man of slight account--would do well to lay his brood upon herample bosom. 

Of course _she_ was marrying _him_, and her acquisition of family wouldinevitably become pensioners upon our bounty; but this is not a greatmatter in a land where the so-called "cultivation" of the soil ismainly a question of pruning and selection, and clothes grow upon thecommonest bush. 

As she turned to go, I even offered her my best wishes, and when Ilaughingly asked her if I might help her with her wedding-dress, sheturned and looked at me. 

"Bless yo' heart, Mis' Gladys, " she exclaimed, "_I ain't gwine out o'mo'nin'_! I gwine marry Pete in des what I got on my back. I'll _marry_him, an' I'll take dem little no-'counts o' his'n, an' I'll make_folks_ out'n 'em 'fo' I gits th'ough wid 'em, ef Gord spares me; buthe nee'n't ter lay out ter come in 'twix' me an' my full year o'mo'nin' fur Numa. When I walks inter dat chu'ch, 'cep'n' fur de owangewreaf, which of co'se in a Christian ma'iage I'm boun' ter wear, folks'll be a heap mo' 'minded o' Numa 'n dey will o' de bridegroom. An' demchillen o' his'n, which ain't nuver is had no proper mo'nin' fur deymammy--no mo' 'n what color Gord give 'em in dey skins--I gwine put 'emin special secon' mo'nin', 'cordin' to de time dey ought ter beenwearin' it; an' when we walks up de island o' de chu'ch, dey got terfoller, two by two, keepin' time ter de fun'al march. You come ter deweddin', Mis' Gladys, an' I lay you'll 'low dat I done fixed it so dat, while I'm a-lookin' out fur de livin', de dead ain't gwine feelslighted, right nur left. "

She was starting away again, and once more, while I wished her joy, Ibade her be careful to make no mistake. A note of sympathy in my voicemust have touched the woman, for she turned, and coming quite up to me, laid her hand upon my lap. 

"Missy, " she said, "I don't believe I gwine make no mistake. You know Iallus did love chillen, an' I ain't nuver is had none o' my own, an'dis heah seemed like my chance. An' I been surveyin' de lan'scape o'ertryin' ter think about eve'ything I can do _ter start right_. I'ma-startin' wid dem chillen, puttin' 'em in mo'nin' fur Ca'line. Den, fur Pete, I gwine ring de changes on Ca'line's goodness tell he ax me, _for Gord sake, ter stop_, so, in years ter come, he won't have nothin'ter th'ow up ter me. An' you know de reason I done tooken fo' days off, missy? I gwine on a weddin'-trip down ter Pine Bluff, an' I wants timeter pick out a few little weddin'-presents to fetch home ter Pete. "

"Pete!" I cried. "Pete is going with you, of course?"

"Pete gwine wid me? Who sesso? No, ma'am! Why, missy, how would it lookfur me ter go a-skylarkin' roun' de country wid Pete--_an' me inmo'nin'_?

"No, indeedy! I gwine leave Pete home ter take keer dem chillen, an' Idone set him a good job o' whitewashin' to do while I'm gone, too. Deprinciples' weddin'-present I gwine fetch Pete is a fiddle. Po' Petebeen wantin' a good fiddle all his life, an' he 'ain't nuver is had one. But, of co'se, I don't 'low ter let him play on it tell de full year ofmo'nin' is out. "

AN OPTICAL DILEMMA

Elder Bradley had lost his spectacles, and he was in despair. He wasnearly blind without them, and there was no one at home to hunt them forhim. His wife had gone out visiting for the afternoon; and he had justseen Dinah, the cook, stride gleefully out the front gate at the end ofthe lane, arrayed in all her "s'ciety uniform, " on her way to a churchfuneral. She would not be home until dark. 

It was growing late in the afternoon, and the elder had to make out hisreport to be read at the meeting of the session this evening. It _hadto be done_. 

He could not, from where he sat, distinguish the pink lion's head fromthe purple rose-buds on the handsome new American Brussels rug that hiswife had bought him as a Christmas gift--to lay under hersewing-machine--although he could put out his boot and touch it. Howcould he expect to find anything so small as a pair of spectacles?

The elder was a very old man, and for years his focal point had beenmoving off gradually, until now his chief pleasures of sight were to befound out-of-doors, where the distant views came gratefully to meet him. 

He could more easily distinguish the dark glass insulators from thelittle sparrows that sometimes came to visit them upon the telegraphpole a quarter of a mile away than he could discriminate between thebeans and the pie that sometimes lay together on his dinner plate. 

Indeed, when his glasses stayed lost over mealtimes, as they hadoccasionally done, he had, after vainly struggling to locate the variousviands upon his plate and suffering repeated palatal disappointments, generally ended by stirring them all together, with the declaration thathe would at least get one certain taste, and abide by it. 

This would seem to show him to have been an essentially amiable man, even though he was occasionally mastered by such outbursts of impatienceas this; for, be it said to his credit, he always left a clean plate. 

The truth is, Elder Bradley was an earnest, good man, and he had triedall his life, in a modest, undeclared way, to be a Christianphilosopher. And he would try it now. He had been, for an hour after hismishap, walking more rapidly than was his habit up and down the entirelength of the hall that divided the house into two distinct sides, andhis head had hung low upon his bosom. He had been pondering. Or perhapshe had been praying. His dilemma was by no means a thing to be takenlightly. 

Suddenly realizing, however, that he had squandered the greater part ofa valuable afternoon in useless repining, he now lifted his head andglanced about him. 

"I'm a-goin' to find them blame spec's--eyes or no eyes!" He spoke witha steady voice that had in it the ring of the invincible spirit thatdares failure. And now, having resolved and spoken, he turned andentered the dining-room--and sat down. It was here that he rememberedhaving last used the glasses. He would sit here and think. 

It was a rather small room, which would have been an advantage inordinary circumstances. But to the elder its dimensions were aninsurmountable difficulty. How can one compass a forty-rod focus withinthe limits of a twelve by sixteen foot room?

But if his eyes could not help him, his hands must. He had taken as fewsteps as possible in going about the room, lest he should tread upon theglasses unawares; and now, stepping gingerly, and sometimes merelypushing his feet along, he approached his writing-table and sat downbefore it. Then he began to feel. It was a tedious experiment and ahazardous one, and after a few moments of nervous and fruitless groping, he sought relief in expression. 

"That's right! turn over!" he exclaimed. "I s'pose you're the red ink!Now if I could jest capsize the mucilage-bottle an' my bag o' snuff, an'stir in that Seidlitz-powder I laid out here to take, it would be purtycheerful for them fiddle-de-dees an' furbelows thet's layin' everywhere. I hope they'll ketch it ef anything does! They's nothin' I feel so muchlike doin' ez takin' a spoon to the whole business!"

The elder was a popular father, grandfather, uncle, husband, andBible-class teacher to a band of devoted women of needle-work andhand-painting proclivities, and his writing-table was a favorite targetfor their patiently wrought love-missiles. 

One of the strongest evidences of the old man's kindliness of nature wasthat it was only when he was wrought up to the point of desperation, asnow, that he spoke his mind about the gewgaws which his soul despised. 

There are very few good old elders in the Presbyterian Church who careto have pink bows tied on their penholders, or to be reminded at everyturn that they are hand-painted and daisy-decked "Dear Grandfathers. " Itis rather inconvenient to have to dodge a daisy or a motto every timeone wants to dry a letter on his blotting-pad, and the hand-paintedpaper-cutter was never meant to cut anything. 

"Yes, " the good old man repeated, "ef I knowed I could stir in everyblame thing thet's got a ribbon bow or a bo'quet on it, I'd take a spoonto this table now--an' stir the whole business up--an' start fresh!"

Still, as his hand tipped a bottle presently, he caught it and set itcautiously back in its place. 

He had begun now to systematically feel over the table, proceedingregularly with both hands from left to right and back again, until on alast return trip he discerned the edge of the mahogany next his body. And then he said--and he said it with spirit:

"Dod blast it! They ain't here--nowheres!"

He sat still now for a moment in thought. And then he began to rememberthat he had sat talking to his wife at the sewing-machine just beforeshe left the house. He rose and examined the table of the machine andthe floor beneath it. Then he tried the sideboard and the window-sill, where he had read his morning chapter from St. Paul's Epistle to theRomans, chapter viii. 

He even shook out the leaves of his Testament upon the floor between hisknees and felt for them there. There had been a Biblical surrender ofthis sort more than once in the past, and he never failed to go to theGood Book for relief, even when, as now, he distinctly remembered havingworn the glasses after his daily reading. 

Failing to find them here, he suddenly ran his hand over his foreheadwith an eager movement. Many a time these very spectacles had come backto him there, and, strange to say, it was always one of the last placeshe remembered to examine. But they were not there now. 

He chuckled, even in his despair, as he dropped his hand. 

"I'll look there ag'in after a while. Maybe when he's afeerd I'll clairlose my soul, he'll fetch 'em back to me!"

The old man had often playfully asserted that his "guardeen angel" foundhis lost glasses, and laid them back on his head for him when he saw himtried beyond his strength. And maybe he was right. Who can tell? Thatthere is some sort of so-called "supernatural" intervention in suchmatters there seems to be little doubt. 

There is a race--of brownies, probably, or maybe they are imps--whosebusiness in life seems to be to catch up any needed trifle--a suddenlydropped needle, the very leaf in the morning paper that the reader helda moment ago and that holds "continuations, " the scissors just now athis elbow, his collar button--and to hide it until the loser swears hisultimate, most desperate swear!

When the profanity is satisfactory, the little fellows usually fetchback the missing article, lay it noiselessly under the swearer's nose, and vanish. 

At other times, when the victim persistently declines profanity, theyhave been known to amiably restore the articles after a reasonable time, and to lay them so absurdly in evidence that the hitherto forbearing manbreaks his record in a volley of imprecations. 

When this happens, if one has presence of mind to listen, he candistinctly hear a fine metallic titter along the tops of the furnitureand a hasty scamper, as of tiny scurrying feet. 

This may sound jocund, but the writer testifies that it is true. 

Of course when the victim is a lady the pixies do not require of themmen's oaths. But they will have only her best. 

When the elder had tried in vain all the probable places where theglasses might be hidden, he began to realize that there was only onething left for him to do. He must feel all over the floor. 

He was a fat old man and short of neck. 

For five years he had realized a feeling of thankfulness that thePresbyterian form of worship permitted standing in prayer. It hurt himto kneel. But nothing could hurt him so much as to fail to hand in hisreport to-night. Indeed, the missionary collection would be affected byit. It _must be written_. 

He found a corner in the room and got down on his marrow-bones, throwinghis hands forward and bringing them back in far-reaching curves, as oneswimming. This was hard work, and before many minutes great drops ofperspiration were falling upon the carpet and the old man's breath camein quick gasps. 

"Ef I jest had the blame things _for a minute_ to slip on my eyes, why, _I could find 'em_--easy enough!" he ejaculated--desperation in hisvoice. 

And then he proceeded to say a number of things that were lacking inmoderation, and consequently very sinful--in an elder of the church. 

The "bad words" spoken in the vacant house fell accusingly upon thespeaker's ears, and they must have startled him, for he hastened to add:"I don't see where no sense o' jestice comes in, nohow, in allowin' aman on the very eve of doin' his Christian duty to lose his mostimportant wherewithal!"

This plea was no doubt in mild extenuation of the explosive that hadpreceded it, and as he turned and drew himself forward by his elbows tocompass a new section of the room, which, by-the-way, seemed suddenlyexpanded in size, he began to realize that the plea was in itself mostsinful--even more so than the outburst, perhaps, being an implication ofdivine injustice. 

A lump came into his throat, and as he proceeded laboriously along onhis dry swim, he felt for a moment in danger of crying. 

Of course this would never do, but there was just so much emotion withinhim, and it had begun to ferment. 

Before he realized his excitement his arms were flying about wildly andhe was shrieking in a frenzy. 

"But _I must have 'em_! I _must have 'em_! I must, I say; O Lord, Imust--I MUST HAVE THEM SPECTACLES! Lor-r-d, I have work to do--FORTHEE--an' I am eager to perform it. All I ask is FIVE MINUTES' USE O'MY EYES, so thet I may pursue this search in patience--"

His voice broke in a sob. 

And just now it was that his left hand, fumbling over the foot of thesewing-machine treadle, ran against a familiar bit of steel wire. 

If it had connected with an ordinary electric battery, the resultingshock could scarcely have been more pronounced. 

There was something really pathetic in the spasmodic grasp with which heseized the glasses, and as he rose to a sitting posture and lifted themto his eyes, his hand shook pitifully. 

"Thank the Lord! _Now I can see to look for 'em!_" And as hetremblingly brought the curved ends of the wire around his ears heexclaimed with fervor, "Yas, Lord, with Thy help I will keep myvow--an' pursue this search in patience. " His wet, red face beamedwith pleasure over the recovery of his near vision. So happy was he, indeed, in the new possession, that, instead of rising, he sat stillin the middle of the floor, running his eyes with rapid scrutiny overthe carpet near him. He sat here a long time--even forgetting hisdiscomfort, while he turned as on a pivot as the search required. Though the missing articles did not promptly appear at his side, Bradley felt that he was having a good time, and so he was, comparatively. Of course he would find the glasses presently. Helooked at his watch. What a joy to see its face! He would still havetime to do the report, if he hurried a little. He began to rise bypainful stages. 

"Lemme see! The last thing I done was to open the sideboa'd an' cuta piece o' pie an' eat it. I _must_ o' had my glasses on then. Iricollec' it was sweet-potato pie, an' it was scorched on one side. Lordy! but what a pleasure it is to look for a thing when a person_can_ look!" He crossed over to the sideboard. 

"Yas"--he had opened the door and was cutting another piece of pie. "Yas. Sweet-potato pie, an' burnt on one side--the side thet's left. Yas, an' I'll leave it ag'in!" He chuckled as he took a deep bite. 

"Of co'se I _must 'a'_ had 'em on _when I cut the pie_, or I couldn't've _saw_ it so distinc'--'an I finished that slice a-settin' downtalkin' to her at the sewin'-machine. Ricollec' I told _her_ how motherused to put cinnamon in hers. I'll go set there ag'in, an' maybe bylookin' 'round--They might 'a' dropped in her darnin'-basket. "

It was while he sat here, running one hand through the basket andholding the slice of pie in the other, that he heard a step, and, looking up, he saw his wife standing in the door. 

"Why, Ephraim! What on earth!" she exclaimed. "I lef you there eatin'that pie fo' hours ago, an' I come back an' find you settin' there yet!You cert'n'y 'ain't forgot to make out yo' report?"

"Forgot nothin', Maria. " He swallowed laboriously as he spoke. "I 'ain'tdone a thing sence you been gone but look for my glasses--not a blamething. An' I'm a-lookin' for 'em yet. "

Mrs. Bradley was frightened. She walked straight up to her husband andtook his hand. "Ephraim, " she said, gently, and as she spoke she drewthe remainder of the pie from his yielding fingers--"Ephraim, Iwouldn't eat any mo' o' that heavy pie ef I was you. You ain't well. Ef you can't make no mo' headway'n that on yo' favor_ite_ pie in fo'hours, you're shorely goin' to be took sick. " She took her handkerchiefand wiped his forehead. And then she added, with a sweet, wifelytenderness: "To prove to you thet you ain't well, honey, yo' glassesare on yo' nose right now. You better go lay down. "

Bradley looked straight into her face for some moments, but he did noteven blink. Then he said, in an awe-stricken voice: "Ef what you sayis true, Maria--an' from the clairness with which I see the seriousexpression of yo' countenance I reckon it must be so--ef it _is_ so--"He paused here, and a new light came into his eyes, and then theyfilled with tears. "Why, Maria honey, _of co'se it's so_! I know whenI found 'em! But I was so full o' the thought thet _ef I jest hadmy sight_ I could _look for 'em_ thet I slipped 'em on my nose an'continued the search. Feel my pulse, honey; I've no doubt you're right. I'm a-goin' to have a spell o' sickness. "

"Yes, dearie, I'm 'feered you are. "

The good woman drew him over to the lounge and carefully adjusted apillow to his head. "Now take a little nap, an' I'll send word over toElder Jones's thet you ain't feelin' well an' can't come toprayer-meetin' to-night. What you need is rest, an' a change o' subject. I jest been over to May Bennett's, an' she's give out thet she an' PeteSanders has broke off their engagement--an' Joe Legget, why his leg'samputated clean off--an' Susan Tucker's baby had seven spasms an'--"

"That so? I'm glad to hear it, wife. But ef you send word over to himthet I ain't well, don't send tell the last minute, please. Ef you wasto, he'd come by here, shore--an' they'd be questions ast, an' Icouldn't stand it. Jest send word when the second bell starts a-ringin'thet I ain't well. _An' I ain't_, Maria. "

"I'm convinced o' that, Ephraim--or I wouldn't send the message--an' youknow it. We ain't so hard pressed for excuses thet we're goin' to lieabout it. I knowed you wasn't well ez soon ez I see that piece o' pie. "

Bradley coughed a little. "Appearances is sometimes deceitful, Maria. Ihadn't wrastled with that pie ez unsuccessful ez I seemed. That was thesecond slice I'd et sence you left. No, the truth is, I lost my glasses, an' I got erritated an' flew into a temper an' said things. An' theLord, He punished me. He took my reason away. He gimme the glasses an'denied me the knowledge of 'em. But I'm thankful to Him for lettin' mehave 'em--anyhow. Ef I was fo'ordained to search for 'em, it was mightymerciful in Him to loan 'em to me to do it with. "

THE SECOND MRS. SLIMM

Ezra Slimm was a widower of nearly a year, and, as a consequence, was ina state of mind not unusual in like circumstances. 

True, the said state of mind had not in his case manifested itself inthe toilet bloomings, friskiness of demeanor, and protestations of youthrenewed which had characterized the first signs of the same in the usualrun of Simpkinsville widowers up to date. If he had for several monthsbeen mentally casting about for another wife, he had betrayed it by nooutward and visible sign. The fact is Ezra's case was somewhatexceptional, as we shall presently see. 

Although he was quite diminutive in size, there was in his bearing, aswith hands clasped behind him he paced up and down before his lonelyfireside, a distinct dignity that was not only essentially manly--it was_gentlemanly_. 

The refinement of feeling underlying this no doubt aggravated thedilemma in which he found himself, and which we cannot sooner comprehendthan by attending to his soliloquy as he reviewed his trials in thefollowing somewhat rambling fashion:

"No, 'twouldn't never do in the world--never, never. 'Twouldn't never doto marry any o' these girls round here thet knows all my ups an' downswith--with pore Jinny. 'Twouldn't never do. Any girl thet knew thet herhusband had been chastised by his first wife the way I've been wouldthink thet ef she got fretted she was lettin' 'im off easy on atongue-lashin'. An' I s'pose they is times when any woman gits sort o'wrought up, livin' day in an' day out with a man. No, 'twouldn't neverdo, " he repeated, as, thrusting both hands in his pockets, he stoppedbefore the fire, and steadying the top of his head against the mantel, studied the logs for a moment. 

"An' so the day pore Jinny took it upon herself to lay me acrost her lapan' punish me in the presence of sech ill-mannered persons ez has seenfit to make a joke of it--though I don't see where the fun comesin--well, that day she settled the hash for number two so fur ez thistown goes. 

"No, 'twouldn't never do in the world! Even ef she never throwed it upto me, I'd be suspicious. She couldn't even to say clap her handstogether to kill a mosquito less'n I'd think she was insinuatin'. An'jest ez quick ez any man suspicions thet his wife is a-naggin' himintentional, it's good-by happiness. 

"Ef 'twasn't for that, of co'se they's more'n one young woman roun' thiscounty thet any man might go further an' do worse than git. 

"Not thet I hold it agin Jinny, now she's gone, but--"

He had resumed his promenade, extending it through a second room as heproceeded:

"--but it does seem strange how a woman gifted in prayer ez she was, an' with all her instinc's religious the way hers was, should o' beenallowed to take sech satisfaction in naggin' the very one she agonizedmost over in prayer, which I _know_ she done over me, _for I've heerd'er_. An' ef she had o' once-t mentioned me to the Lord confidentialez a person fitten to commingle with the cherubim an' seraphim, 'stidof a pore lost sinner not fitten to bresh up their wing-feathers for'em, I b'lieve I might o' give in. I don't wonder I 'ain't never had acall to enter the Kingdom on her ricommendation. 'Twouldn't o' beenfair to the innocent angels thet would 'a' been called on to associatewith me. That's the way I look at it. 

"An' yit Jinny 'lowed herself thet my _out'ard ac's_ was good, butbein' ez they didn't spring from a converted _heart_, they was jestnachel _hypocercy_, an' thet ef I'd o' lied an' stole, _or evenanswered her back_, she'd o' had more hope for me, because, sez she, a 'consistent sinner is ap' to make a consistent Christian. '

"She even tol' me one day--pore Jinny! I can see her face light up nowwhen she said it--sez she, 'I'm ac-chilly most afeerd _to_ see youconverted, less'n you'll break out in some devilment you hadn't neverthought about before-you're that inconsistent. '

 [Illustration: "'I'M AC-CHILLY MOST AFEERD _TO_ SEE YOU CONVERTED'"]

"Sometimes I feel mean to think I don't miss 'er more'n what I do--an'she so lively, too. Tell the truth, I miss them little devils she usedto print on the butter pads she set at my plate ez a warnin' to me--seemto me I miss them jest about ez much ez I miss her. 

"The nearest I ever _did_ come to answerin' her back--'cept, of co'se, the time she chastised me--was the way I used regular to heat myknife-blade good an' hot 'twix' two batter-cakes an' flatten that devilout _de_lib'rate. But he'd be back nex' day, pitchfork an' all. 

"But with it all Jinny loved me--in her own way, of co'se. Doubt if I'llever git another to love me ez well; 'n' don't know ez I crave it, less'n she was different dispositioned. 

"I've done paid her all the respec's I know--put up a fine Bible-textedtombstone for her, an' had her daguerre'type enlarged to a po'tr'it. Idon't know's I'm obligated to do any more, 'cep'n, of co'se, to waittill the year's out, which, not havin' no young children in need of amother, I couldn't hardly do less than do. "

It was about a week after this that Ezra sat beside his fire reading hispaper, when his eye happened to fall upon the following paragraph amongthe "personals":

 "The Claybank Academy continues to thrive under the able management of Miss Myrtle Musgrove. That accomplished and popular young lady has abolished the use of the rod, and by substituting the law of kindness she has built up the most flourishing academy in the State. "

Ezra read the notice three times. Then he laid the paper down, andclapping his hand upon it, exclaimed: "Well, I'll be doggoned ef thatain't the woman for me! _Any_ girl thet could teach a county school an'abolish whuppin'--not only a chance to do it, but a crowd o' youngrascals _needin_' it all around 'er, an' her _not doin' it_! An' yitsome other persons has been known to strain a p'int to whup a personthey 'ain't rightly got no business _to_ whup. " He read the noticeagain. "Purty name that, too, Myrtle Musgrove. Sounds like a girl to goout walkin' with under the myrtle-trees in the grove moonlight nights, Myrtle Musgrove does. 

"I declare, I ain't to say religious, but I b'lieve that notice wassent to me providential. 

"Of co'se, maybe she wouldn't look at me ef I ast her; but one thingshore, she _can't if I don't_. 

"Claybank is a good hund'ed miles from here 'n' I couldn't leave thefarm now, noways; besides, the day I start a-makin' trips from home, talk'll start, an' I'll be watched close-ter'n what I'm watched now--efthat's possible. But th' ain't nothin' to hender me _writin_'--ez Ican see. "

This idea, once in his mind, lent a new impulse to Ezra's life, a freshspring to his gait, so evident to solicitous eyes that during the nextweek even his dog noticed it and had a way of running up and sniffingabout him, as if asking what had happened. 

An era of hope had dawned for the hitherto downcast man simply becauseMiss Myrtle Musgrove, a woman he had never seen, had abolished whippingin a distant school. 

Two weeks passed before Ezra saw his way clearly to write the proposedletter, but he did, nevertheless, in the interval, walk up and down hisbutter-bean arbor on moonlight nights, imagining Miss Myrtle besidehim--Miss Myrtle, named for his favorite flower. He _had_ preferredthe violet, but he had changed his mind. Rose-colored crêpe-myrtles wereblooming in his garden at the time. Maybe this was why he began to thinkof her as a pink-faced laughing girl, typified by the blushing flower. Everything was so absolutely real in her setting that the ideal girlwalked, a definite embodiment of his fancy, night after night by hisside, and whether it was from his life habit or an intuitive fancy, helooked _upward_ into her face. He had always liked tall women. 

And all this time he was trying to frame a suitable letter to the real"popular and accomplished Miss Musgrove, " of Claybank Academy. 

Finally, however, the ambitious and flowery document was finished. 

It would be unfair to him whose postscript read, "For Your Eyes alone, "to quote in full, for the vulgar gratification of prying eyes, thepathetic missive that told again the old story of a lonely home, theneeded woman. But when it was sent, Ezra found the circuit of thebutter-bean arbor too circumscribed a promenade, and began taking theimaginary Miss Myrtle with him down through his orchard andpotato-patch. 

It was during these moonlight communings that he seemed to discover thatshe listened while he talked--a new experience to Ezra--and that evenwhen he expressed his awful doubts as to the existence of a personaldevil she only smiled, and thought he might be right. 

Oh, the joy of such companionship! But, oh, the slowness of the mails!

A month passed, and Ezra was beginning to give up all hope of everhaving an answer to his letter, when one day it came, a dainty envelopewith the Claybank postmark. 

Miss Musgrove thanked him for his letter. She would see him. It wouldnot be convenient now, but would he not come down to the academy'sclosing exercises in June--a month later? Until then she was veryrespectfully his friend, Myrtle Musgrove. 

The next month was the longest in Ezra's life. Still, the Lord'scalendar is faithful, and the sun not a waiter upon the moods of men. 

In twenty-nine days exactly a timid little man stood with throbbingheart at the door of Claybank Academy, and in a moment more he hadslipped into a back seat of the crowded room, where a young orator wasringing Poe's "Bells" through all the varying cadences of his changingvoice to a rapt audience of relations and friends. Here unobserved Ezrahoped to recover his self-possession, remove the beads of perspirationone by one from his brow with a corner of his neatly foldedhandkerchief, and perhaps from this vantage-ground even enjoy thedelight of recognizing Miss Myrtle without an introduction. 

He had barely deposited his hat beneath his chair when there burst uponhis delighted vision a radiant, dark-eyed, red-haired creature in pink, sitting head and shoulders above her companions on a bench set at rightangles with the audience seats, in front of the house. There were anumber of women in the row, and they were without bonnets. Evidentlythese were the teachers, and of course the pink goddess was Miss MyrtleMusgrove. 

Ezra never knew whether the programme was long or short. The bells hadtintinabulated and musically welled into "Casabianca" which, in turn, had merged into "The Queen o' the May, " and presently before he realizedit Freedom was ringing in the closing notes of "America, " and everybodywas standing up, pupils filing out, guests shaking hands, babelreigning, and he had seen only a single, towering, handsome woman in allthe assembly. 

Indeed, it had never occurred to him to doubt his own intuition, untilsuddenly he heard his own name quite near, and turning quickly, he saw astout matronly woman of forty years or thereabouts standing beside him, extending her hand. 

Every unmarried woman is a "young lady" by courtesy south of Mason andDixon's line. 

"I knew you as soon as I saw you, Mr. Slimm, " she was saying. "I am MissMusgrove. But you didn't know me, " she added, archly, while Ezra madehis bravest effort at cordiality, seizing her hand in an agony which itis better not to attempt to describe. 

Miss Musgrove's face was wholesome, and so kindly that not even across-eye had power to spoil it. But Ezra saw only the plain middle-agedwoman--the contrast to the blooming divinity whose image yet filled hissoul. And he was committed to her who held his hand, unequivocallycommitted in writing. If he sent heavenward an agonized prayer fordeliverance from a trying crisis, his petition was soon answered. Andthe merciful instrument was even she of the cross-eye. Before he hadfound need of a word of his own, she had drawn him aside, and wassaying:

"You see, Mr. Slimm, the only trouble with me is that I am alreadymarried. "

"Married!" gasped Ezra, trying in vain to keep the joy out of his voice. "Married, you--you don't mean--"

"Yes, married to my profession--the only husband I shall ever take. Butyour letter attracted me. I am a Normal School psychology student--ahard name for a well-meaning woman--and it seemed to me you were worthinvestigating. So I investigated. Then I knew you ought to be helped. And so I sent for you, and I am going to introduce you to three of thesweetest girls in Dixie; and if you can't find a wife among them, thenyou are not so clever as I think you--that's all about it. And herecomes one of them now. Kitty, step here a minute, please. Miss Deems, myfriend, Mr. Slimm. "

And Miss Myrtle Musgrove was off across the room before Ezra's gasp hadfully expanded into the smile with which he greeted Miss Kitty Deems, abuxom lass with freckles and dimples enough to hold her own anywhere. 

Two other delightful young women were presented at intervals during theafternoon in about the same fashion, and but for a certain pink Juno whoflitted about ever in sight, Ezra would have confessed only anembarrassment of riches. 

"And how do you get on with my girls?" was Miss Musgrove's greetingwhen, late in the evening, she sought Ezra for a moment's _tête-à-tête_. 

He rubbed his hands together and hesitated. 

"'Bout ez fine a set o' young ladies ez I ever see, " he said, with realenthusiasm; "but, tell the truth, I--but you've a'ready been sokind--but--There she is now! That tall, light-complected one in pink--"

"Why, certainly, Mr. Slimm. If you say so, I'll introduce her. A fine, thorough-going girl, that. You know we have abolished whipping in theacademy, and that girl thought one of her boys needed it, and shefollowed him home, and gave it to him there, and his father interfered, and--well, _she whipped him too_. Fine girl. Not afraid of anythingon earth. Certainly I'll introduce you, if you say so. "

She stopped and looked at Ezra kindly. And he saw that she knew all. 

"Well, I ain't particular. Some other time, " he began to say; thenblushing scarlet, he seized her hand, and pressing it, said, fervently, "God bless you!"

 * * * *

The second Mrs. Slimm is a wholesome little body, with dimples andfreckles, whom Ezra declares "God A'mighty couldn't o' made withoutthinkin' of Ezra Slimm an' his precize necessities. "

No one but himself and Miss Musgrove ever knew the whole story of hiswooing, nor why, when in due season a tiny dimpled Miss Slimm came intothe family circle, it was by Ezra's request that she was called Myrtle. 

APOLLO BELVEDERE

A CHRISTMAS EPISODE OF THE PLANTATION

He was a little yellow man with a quizzical face and sloping shoulders, and when he gave his full name, with somewhat of a flourish, as if itmight hold compensations for physical shortcomings, one could hardlyhelp smiling. And yet there was a pathos in the caricature thatdissipated the smile half-way. It never found voice in a laugh. Thepathetic quality was no doubt a certain serious ingenuousness--aconfiding look that always met your eye from the eager face of thediminutive wearer of second-hand coats and silk hats. 

"Yas, I'm named 'Pollo Belvedere, an' my marster gi'e me dat intitleminton account o' my shape, " he would say, with a strut, on occasion, if hewere bantered, for he had learned that the name held personalsuggestions which it took a little bravado to confront. EvidentlyApollo's master was a humorist. 

Apollo had always been a house-servant, and had for several years servedwith satisfaction as coachman to his master's family; but after thebreaking up, when the place went into other hands, he failed to findfavor with the new-comers, who had an eye for conventional form, and soApollo was under the necessity of accepting lower rank on the place as afield-hand. But he entered plantation circles with his head up. He hadhis house rearing, his toilets, and his education--all distinguishingpossessions in his small world--and he was, in his way, quite agentleman. Apollo could read a chapter from the Bible without stoppingto spell. He seized his words with snap-shots and pronounced them withgenius. Indeed, when not limited by the suggestions of print, as when onoccasion he responded to an invitation to lead in public prayer, he wasa builder of words of so noble and complex architecture that one hearinghim was pleased to remember that the good Lord, being omniscient, mustof course know all tongues, and would understand. 

That the people of the plantation thought well of Apollo will appearfrom the fact that he was more than once urged to enter the ministry;but this he very discreetly declined to do, and for several reasons. Inthe first place he didn't feel "called to preach"; and in the secondplace he did feel called or impelled to play the fiddle; and more thanthat, he liked to play dance music, and to have it "danced by. "

As Apollo would have told you himself, the fact that he had nevermarried was not because he couldn't get anybody to have him, but simplythat he hadn't himself been suited. And, indeed, it is because of theromance of his life that Apollo comes at all into this little sketchthat bears his name. Had he not been so pathetic in his serious andgrotesque personality, the story would probably have borne the name ofits heroine, Miss Lily Washington, of Lone Oak Plantation, and wouldhave concerned a number of other people. 

Lily was a beauty in her own right, and she was belle of the plantation. She stood five feet ten in her bare feet, and although she tipped thescales at a hundred and sixty, she was as slim and round as a reed, andit was well known that the grip of her firm fingers applied to theclosed fist of any of the young fellows on the place would make himhowl. She was an emotional creature, with a caustic tongue on occasion, and when it pleased her mood to look over her shoulder at one of hernumerous admirers and to wither him with a look or a word, she did nothesitate to do it. For instance, when Apollo first asked her to marryhim--it had been his habit to propose to her every day or so for a yearor two past--she glanced at him askance from head to foot, and then shesaid: "Why, yas. Dat is, I s'pose, of co'se, you's de sample. I'd ordera full-size by you in a minute. " This was cruel, and seeing the patheticlook come into his face, she instantly repented of it, and walked homefrom church with him, dismissing a handsome black fellow, and sayingonly kind things to Apollo all the way. And while he walked beside her, he told her that, although she couldn't realize it, he was as tall asshe, for his feet were not on the ground at all; which was in a mannertrue, for when Lily was gracious to him, he felt himself borne along onwings that the common people could not see. 

Of course no one took Apollo seriously as Lily's suitor, much less thechocolate maid herself. But there were other lovers. Indeed, there wereall the others, for that matter, but in point of eligibility the numberto be seriously regarded was reduced to about two. These were PetePeters, a handsome griff, with just enough Indian in his blood to givehim an air of distinction, and a French-talking mulatto who had come upfrom New Orleans to repair the machinery in the sugar-house, and who wasbuying land in the vicinity, and drove his own sulky. Pete was lessprosperous than he, but although he worked his land on shares, he ownedtwo mules and a saddle-horse, and would be allowed to enter on apurchase of land whenever he should choose to do so. Although Pete andthe New Orleans fellow, whose name was also Peter, but who was calledPierre, met constantly in a friendly enough way, they did not love eachother. They both loved Lily too much for that. But they laughedgood-naturedly together at Apollo and his "case, " which they inquiredafter politely, as if it were a member of his family. 

"Well, 'Pollo, how's yo' case on Miss Lily comin' on?" either one wouldsay, with a wink at the other, and Apollo would artlessly report thestate of the heavens with relation to his particular star, as when heonce replied to this identical question, "Well, Miss Lily was mighty obstropulous 'istiddy, but she is mo'cancelized dis mornin'. "

It was Pete who had asked the question, and he laughed aloud at theanswer. "Mo' cancelized dis mornin', is she?" he replied. "How you knowshe is?"

"'Caze she lemme tote her hoe all de way up f'om de field, " answered theingenuous Apollo. 

"She did, did she? An' who was walkin' by her side all dat time, I liketo know?"

Apollo winced a little at this, but he answered, bravely, "I don't kyahef Pier was walkin' wid her; I was totin' her hoe, all de samee. "

At this Pete seemed to forget all about Apollo and his case, and heremarked that he never could see what some folks saw in city niggers, nohow--and neither could Apollo. And they felt a momentary sense ofnearness to each other that was not exactly a bond, but they did nottalk any more as they walked along. 

It is probable that the coming of the "city fellow" into her circlehastened to culmination more than one pending romance, and there werenow various and sundry coldnesses existing between Lily and a number ofthe boys on the place, where there had recently existed only warm andhopeful friendships. The intruder, who had a way of shrugging hisshoulders and declaring of almost any question, "Well, me, I dun'no', "seemed altogether _too sure_ when it came to a question of Lily. Atleast so he appeared to her more timid rural lovers. 

 * * * *

The Christmas-eve dance in the sugar-house had been for years an annualfunction on the plantation. At this, since her début, at fourteen, three Christmases before, Lily had held undisputed sway, and all formerbelles amiably accepted their places as lesser lights. But there hadbeen some quarrelling and even a fight or two on Lily's account, indirectly, and the church people had declared against the ball, on thescore of domestic peace on the place. They had fought dancing _per se_as long as they could, but Terpsichore finally waltzed up the churchaisle, figuratively speaking, and flaunted her ruffled skirts in thevery faces of elders and minister, and they had had to smile and giveher a pew to keep her still. And she was in the church yet, atroublemaker sometimes, and a disturber of spiritual peace--but stillthere. 

If they had forcibly ejected her, some of their most promising andimportant members would have followed. But they could preach to her, andso they did. Mayhap in time they would convert her and have her and hernumerous votaries for their own. As the reverend brother thundered outhis denunciations of the ungodly goddess he cast his eyes often in thedirection of the leading dancer, and from her they would wander to thesmall fiddler who sat beside the tall hat in a back pew. But somehowneither Lily nor Apollo seemed in the least conscious of any personalappeal in his glance, and when finally the question of the Christmasball was put to vote, they both rose and unequivocally voted for it. So, for that matter, did so large a majority that one of the elders got upand proposed that the church hold revival meetings, in the hope ofrousing her people to a realization of her dangers. And then Lilywhispered something to her neighbor, a good old man of the church, andhe stood up and announced that Miss Lily Washington proposed to have therevival _after Christmas_. There was some laughter at this, and thepastor very seriously objected to it as thwarting the very object forwhich the meetings would be held; and then, seeing herself in danger ofbeing vanquished in argument, Lily, blushing a fine copper-color in realmaidenly embarrassment, rose in the presence of the congregation, to saythat when she proposed to have the revival after Christmas, she "didn'tmean no harm. " She was only thinking that "it was a heap better torepent 'n to backslide. "

This brought down the house, an expression not usually employed in thisconnection, but which seems to force its way here as particularlyfitting. As soon as he could get a hearing the reverend brother gave outa hymn, followed it with a short prayer, and dismissed the congregation. And on the Sunday following he gave notice that for several reasons ithad been decided as expedient to postpone the revival meetings in thechurch until _after Christmas_. No doubt he had come over to Lily'sway of thinking. 

Lily was perfectly ravishing in her splendor at the dance. The whiteSwiss frock she wore was high in the neck, but her brown shoulders andarms shone through the thin fabric with fine effect. About her slimwaist she tied a narrow ribbon of blue, and she carried a pink featherfan, and the wreath about her forehead was of lilies-of-the-valley. Shehad done a day's scouring for them, and they had come out of the summerhat of one of the white ladies on the coast. This insured their quality, and no doubt contributed somewhat to the quiet serenity with which shebore herself as, with her little head held like that of the Venus ofMilo, she danced down the centre of the room, holding her flounces ineither hand, and kicking the floor until she kicked both her slippers topieces, when she finished the figure in her stocking feet. 

She had a relay of slippers ready, and there was a scramble as to whoshould put them on; but she settled that question by making 'Pollo rise, with his fiddle in his arms, and lend her his chair for a minute whileshe pulled them on herself. Then she let Pete and Pierre each have oneof the discarded slippers as a trophy. Lily had always danced outseveral pairs of slippers at the Christmas dance, but she had neverachieved her stocking feet in the first round until now, and she was inhigh glee over it. If she had been admired before, she was looked uponas a raving, tearing beauty to-night--and so she was. Fortunately 'Pollohad his fiddling to do, and this saved him from any conspicuous folly. But he kept his eyes on her, and when she grew too ravishingly lovely tohis fond vision, and he couldn't stand it a minute longer in silence, heturned to the man next him, who played the bones, and remarked, "Ef--efanybody but Gord A'mighty had a-made anything as purty as Miss Lily, dey'd 'a' stinted it somewhar, " and, watching every turn, he lent hisbow to her varying moods while she tired out one dancer after another. It was the New Orleans fellow who first lost his head utterly. He haddanced with her but three times, but while she took another's hand andwhizzed through the figures he scarcely took his eyes from her, andwhen, at about midnight, he succeeded in getting her apart for apromenade, he poured forth his soul to her in the picturesque English ofthe quadroon quarter of New Orleans. "An' now, to proof to you my lorv, Ma'm'selle Lee-lee"--he gesticulated vigorously as he spoke--"I amgeeving you wan beau-u-tiful Christmas present--I am goin' to geeveyou--w'at you t'ink? My borgee!" With this he turned dramatically andfaced her. They were standing now under the shed outside the door in themoonlight, and, although they did not see him, Apollo stood withinhearing, behind a pile of molasses-barrels, where he had come "to cooloff. "

Lily had several times been "buggy-ridin'" with Pierre in this same"borgee, " and it was a very magnificent affair in her eyes. When he toldher that it was to be hers she gasped. Such presents were unknown on theplantation. But Lily was a "mannerly" member of good society, if hercircle was small, and she was not to be taken aback by any compliment aman should pay her. She simply fanned herself, a little flurriedly, perhaps, with her feather fan, as she said: "You sho' must be jokin', Mr. Pier. You cert'n'y must. " But Mr. Pierre was not joking. He wasnever more in earnest in his life, and he told her so, and there is notelling what else he would have told her but for the fact that Mr. PetePeters happened to come out to the shed to cool off about this time, andas he almost brushed her shoulder, it was as little as Lily could do toaddress a remark to him, and then, of course, he stopped and chatted awhile; and after what appeared a reasonable interval, long enough for itnot to seem that she was too much elated over it, she remarked, "An'by-de-way, Mr. Peters, I must tell you what a lovely Christmas gif' Ihave just received by de hand of Mr. Pier. He has jest presented me widhis yaller-wheeled buggy, an' I sho' is proud of it. " Then, turning toPierre, she added, "You sho' is a mighty generous gen'leman, Mr. Pier--you cert'n'y is. "

Peters gave Lily one startled look, but he instantly realized, from heringenuous manner, that there was nothing back of the gift of thebuggy--that is, it had been, so far as she was concerned, simply aChristmas present. Pierre had not offered himself with the gift. And ifthis were so, well, he reckoned he could match him. 

He reached forward and took Lily's fan from her hand. He hastened to dothis to keep Pierre from taking it. Then, while he fanned her, he said, "Is dat so, Miss Lily, dat Mr. Pier is give you a buggy? Dat sholy is afine Christmas gif'--it sho' is. An' sence you fin' yo'se'f possessed ofa buggy, I trust you will allow me de pleasure of presentin' you wid ahorse to drive _in_ de buggy. " He made a graceful bow as he spoke, abow that would have done credit to the man from New Orleans. It was sowell done, indeed, that Lily unconsciously bowed in return, as shesaid, with a look that savored a little of roguishness: "Oh, hursh, Mr. Peters! You des a-guyin' me--dat what you doin'. "

"Guyin' nothin', " said Peters, grinning broadly as he noted theexpression of Pierre's face. "Ef you'll jes do me de honor to accep' ofmy horse, Miss Lily, I'll be de proudest gen'leman on dis plantation. "

At this she chuckled, and took her fan in her own hand. And then sheturned to Pierre. "You sho' has set de style o' mighty expensiveChristmas gif's on dis plantation, Mr. Pier--you cert'n'y has. An' Iwants to thank you bofe mos' kindly--I cert'n'y does. "

Having heard this much, 'Pollo thought it time to come from his hiding, and he strolled leisurely out in the other direction first, but soonreturned this way. And then he stopped, and reaching over, took thefeather fan--and for a few moments he had his innings. Then some oneelse came along and the conversation became impersonal, and one by onethey all dropped off--all except 'Pollo. When the rest had gone he andLily found seats on the cane-carrier, and they talked a while, and whena little later supper was announced, it was the proud fiddler who tookher in, while Pierre and Peters stood off and politely glared at eachother; and after a while Pierre must have said something, for Peterssuddenly sprang at him and tumbled him out the door and rolled him overin the dirt, and they had to be separated. But presently they laughedand shook hands, and Pierre offered Pete a cigarette, and Pete took it, and gave Pierre a light--and it was all over. 

 * * * *

It was next day--Christmas morning--and the young people were standingabout in groups under the China-trees in the campus, when Apollo joinedthem, looking unusually chipper and beaming. He was dressed in hisbest--Prince Albert, beaver, and all--and he sported a bright silkhandkerchief tied loosely about his neck. 

He was altogether a delightful figure, absolutely content with himself, and apparently at peace with the world. No sooner had he joined thecrowd than the fellows began chaffing him, as usual, and presently someone mentioned Lily's name and spoke of her presents. The two men who hadbroken the record for generosity in the history of plantation loverswere looked upon as nabobs by those of lesser means. Of course everybodyknew the city fellow had started it, and they were glad Peters had cometo time and saved the dignity of the place; indeed he was about the onlyone on the plantation who could have done it. 

As they stood talking it over the two heroes had nothing to say, ofcourse, and 'Pollo began rolling a cigarette--an art he had learned fromthe man from New Orleans. 

Finally he remarked, "Yas, Miss Lily got sev'al mighty nice presentslast night. "

At this Pierre turned, laughing, and said, "I s'pose you geeve 'ersomet'ing too, eh?"

"Pity you hadn't a-give her dat silk hankcher. Hit'd become her a heapbetter'n it becomes you, " Peters said, laughing. 

"Yas, I reckon it would, " said 'Pollo; "but de fact is _she_ gi' _me_dis hankcher--an' of co'se I accepted it. "

"But why ain't you tellin' us what you give her?" insisted Peters. 

'Pollo put the cigarette to his lips, deliberately lit it, puffedseveral times, and then, removing it in a leisurely way, he drawled:

"Well, de fact is I heerd Mr. Pier here give her a buggy, an'--an' Mr. Peters, he up an' handed over a horse, --an' so, quick as I got achance, I des balanced my ekalub'ium an' went an' set down beside heran' ast her ef she wouldn't do me de honor to accep' of a _driver_, an'--an' _she say yas_. 

"You know I'm a coachman by trade. 

"An' dat's huccome I come to say she got sev'al presents las' night. "

And he took another puff of his cigarette. 

NEAREST OF KIN

(ON THE PLANTATION)

When Tamar the laundress was married to the coachman Pompey, there was abig time on the plantation. Tamar wore white tarlatan and an orangewreath--although it was her severalth marriage--and she had sixbridemaids and a train-bearer. The last, a slim little black girl ofabout ten years, was dressed somewhat after the fashion of the ballet, in green tarlatan with spangles, and her slender legs were carefullywrapped with gilt paper that glistened through the clocked stockingswith fine effect. Otherwise the "clockings" in the black stockinet wouldhave lost their value. 

Pompey, as groom, was resplendent in the full glare of a white ducksuit, and he wore a rosette of satin ribbon--"so's to 'stinguish him outf'om de groomsmen, " each of whom was likewise "ducked" out in immaculatelinen; and if there were some suggestive misfits among them, there wereample laundry compensations in the way of starch and polish--a proudachievement of the bride. 

There was a good deal of marching up and down the aisles of the churchby the entire party before the ceremony, which was, altogether, reallyvery effective. Pompey was as black as his bride, and his face was ascarefully oiled and polished for the occasion as hers, which is saying agood deal, both as to color and shine. 

After the ceremony everybody repaired, for a supper and dance, to thesugar-house, where there was a bride's cake, with all the usualaccessories, such as the ring and thimble, to be cut for. And of course, before the end of the evening, there was the usual distribution of bitsof cake to be "dreamed on. " This last, indeed, was so important thatnearly every girl on the plantation slept in a neighbor's cabin thatnight, so as to command the full potency of the charm by dreaming hergreat dream in a strange bed. The whole wedding was, in fact, sodisturbing a social function that everything on the place was more orless disarranged by it--even the breakfast hour at the great house, which was fully three-quarters of an hour late next morning. But thatwas no great matter, as all the family had been witnesses to the weddingand were somewhat sleepy in consequence--and the "rising-bell" was amovable form anyway. 

Perhaps if the nuptials had been less festive the demeanor of the brideimmediately afterwards would not have been so conspicuous. As it was, however, when she appeared at the wash-house, ready for duty, on thesecond morning following, dressed in heavy mourning, and wearing, moreover, a pseudo-sorrowful expression on her every-otherwise shiningface, they wondered, and there was some nudging and whispering among thenegroes. Some hastily concluded that the marriage had been rashlyrepudiated as a failure; but when presently the groom strolled into theyard, smiling broadly, and when he proceeded with many a flourish todevotedly fill her wash-tubs from the well for his bride, they saw thatthere must be some other explanation. The importance of the centralfigure in so recent a pageant still surrounded her with somewhat of aglamour in the eyes of her companions, setting her apart, so that theywere slow to ask her any questions. 

Later in the day, though, when her mistress, happening to pass throughthe yard, saw the black-gowned figure bending low over the tubs, shehastened to the wash-shed. 

"Why, Tamar, " she exclaimed, "what on earth--"

At this Tamar raised her face and smiled faintly. Then, glancing down ather dress to indicate that she understood, she drawled, demurely:

"Ain't nothin' de matter, missy. I jes mo'nin' for Sister Sophy-Sophia. "

"Sophy-Sophia! You don't mean--"

"Yas, 'm, I does. I means Pompey's las' wife, Sis' Sophy-Sophia. Shedidn't have no kinfolks to go in mo'nin' for her, an' time Pompey an' megot ingaged he made known his wushes to me, an' I promised him I'd puton mo'nin' for her soon as I married into de family. Co'se I couldn't doit 'fo' I was kin to her. "

 [Illustration: "'I PROMISED HIM I'D PUT ON MO'NIN' FOR HER, SOON AS I MARRIED INTO DE FAMILY. '"]

"Kin to her!" the mistress laughed. "Why, Tamar, what relation on earthare you to Pompey's former wife, I'd like to know?"

The black woman dropped the garment she was wringing and thought amoment. 

"Well, missy, " she said, presently, "looks to me like I'm a speritu'lfoster-sister to her, ef I ain't no mo'--an' I done inherited all herrights an' privileges, so Pompey say--an' ef I 'ain't got a right tomo'n for her, _who is_? Dey tell me a 'oman is got a right to go inmo'nin' for her husband's kin anyway; but of co'se, come down to it, she warn't no blood-kin to Pompey, nohow. Howsomever, eve'ybody knows awidder or a widderer is intitled to wear _all de mo'nin' dey is_; an'his wife, why, she's intitled to a equal sheer in it, if she choose toseize her rights. I'd 'a' put it on befo' de weddin', 'cep'n I didn'thave no title to it, an' it wouldn't 'a' been no comfort to her noways. Set down, missy. " She began wiping off one of her wash-benches with herapron as she spoke. "Set down, mistus, an' lemme talk to you. "

The situation was interesting, and the mistress sat down. 

"You see, missy"--she had come nearer now, and assumed a confidentialtone--"you see, Sister Sophy-Sophia she 'ain't nuver found rest yit, an'dat frets Pompey. Hit troubles 'im in de sperit--an' I promised him totry to pacify her. "

"Pacify her! Why, Tamar! How can you pacify a person who is dead? Andhow do you know that her spirit isn't at rest?"

The black woman turned and looked behind her to make sure that no oneshould overhear. Then, lowering her voice, she whispered:

"Her grave 'ain't nuver settled yit, mistus. She been buried ever sencebefo' Christmus, an' hit ain't evened down yit. An' dat's a shore signof a onrestless sperit--yas, 'm. "

Her face had grown suddenly anxious as she spoke. And presently sheadded:

"Of co'se, when a grave settles _too_ quick, dat's a sign dey'll soonbe another death, an' nobody don't crave to see a grave sink toosudden. But it'll ease down gradual--ef de dead sleeps easy--yas, 'm. No, Sister Sophy-Sophia she 'ain't took no comfort in her grave yit. An' Pompey, righteously speakin', ought to pacified her befo' he setout to marry ag'in. Heap o' 'omans would 'a' been afeerd to marry a manwid a unsunk grave on his hands--'feerd she'd ha'nt her. But I done had'spe'unce, an' I'm mo' 'feerd o' live ha'nts 'n I is o' dead ones. Iknow Sis' Sophy-Sophia she's _layin' dar_--an' she _can't git out_. Youknow, she died o' de exclammatory rheumatism, an' some say hit was ajedgmint f'om heaven. You know, Sis' Sophy-Sophia she was a devil forfun. She would have her joke. An' some say Gord A'mighty punished heran' turned eve'y bone in 'er body into funny-bones, jes to show her dateve'y funny thing ain't to be laughed at. An' ef you ever got a suddenwhack on de funny-bone in yo' elbow, missy, you know how she sufferedwhen she was teched. An' she ain't at rest yit. She done proved dat. Ofco'se, ef she died wid some'h'n' on 'er mind, we can't do nothin' forher; but ef she jes need soothin', I'll git her quieted down. "

She leaned forward and resumed her washing--that is to say, she raised agarment from the suds and looked at it, turned it over idly in her handsseveral times, and dipped it languidly. 

Her visitor watched her in amused silence for a while. 

"And how are you going to soothe her, Tamar?" she asked, presently. "Tell me all about it. "

At this the woman began wiping her hands upon her apron, and droppinginto a seat between two of the tubs and resting her arms upon theirrims, she faced her mistress. 

"Of co'se, honey, " she began, "de fust thing is to _wear mo'nin_'--an'dat ain't no special trouble to me--I got consider'ble black frockslef' over from my widderhoods. An' in addition to dat, I gwine carry itaround in my countenance--an' _ef she sees it_--an' I b'lieve de deaddoes see--_maybe it'll ease her mind_. Of co'se, when a pusson ain'table to sorrer in her heart, dey 'bleeged to wear it in dey face--"

There was something in her voice as she said these last words--anindescribable note that seemed to express detachment from all feeling inthe matter--that made her listener turn and look narrowly into her face. Still, she was not in the least prepared for the hearty laughter thatgreeted her question. 

"And don't you mourn for her in your heart, Tamar?" She eyed hernarrowly as she put the question. 

The black woman did not even attempt an answer. Nor did she apparentlyeven try to control her mirth. But, after a while, when she had laugheduntil she was tired, she suddenly rose to her feet, and as she gatheredup a handful of wet garments, and began rubbing them on the wash-board, she exclaimed, still chuckling:

"Lemme git to my washin', honey, befo' I disgrace my mo'nin'. "

In a little while, however, she grew serious again, and although shestill seemed to have trouble with her shoulders, that insisted uponexpressing merriment, she said:

"I 'clare, I talks like a plumb hycoprite, missy--I sho' does. But Iain't. No, 'm, I ain't. Of co'se I grieves for Sis' Sophy-Sophia. I'dgrieve for any po' human dat can't find rest in 'er grave--an' I'm gwineto consolate her, good as I kin. Soon as de dark o' de moon comes, Igwine out an' set on her grave an' moan, an' ef dat don't ease her, maybe when her funer'l is preached she'll be comforted. "

"And hasn't she had her funeral sermon yet, Tamar?"

"Oh no, 'm. 'Tain't time, hardly, yit. We mos' gin'ly waits two orthree years after de bury-in' befo' we has members' funer'ls preached. An' we don't nuver, sca'cely, have 'em under a year. You see, dey's alot o' smarty folks dat 'ain't got nothin' better to do 'n to bring upthings ag'in dead folks's cha'acter, so we waits tell dey been restin'in de groun' a year or so. Den a preacher he can expec' to preach deyfuner'ls in peace. De fac' is, some o' our mos' piousest elders an'deacons is had so many widders show up at dey funer'ls dat de chu'chesis most of 'em passed a law dat dey compelled to wait a year or so an'give all dese heah p'omiscu'us widders time to marry off--an' savescandalizement. An' Pompey an' Sophy-Sophia dey didn't have no mo'n abroomstick weddin' nohow--but of co'se _dey did have de broomstick. I'ma witness to dat, 'caze dey borried my broom--yas, 'm. _ Ricollec', Ihad one o' dese heah green-handle sto'e brooms, an' Pompey he come overto my cabin one mornin' an' he say, 'Sis' Tamar, ' he say, 'would youmind loandin' Sis' Sophy-Sophia dat green-handle straw broom dat yousweeps out de chu'ch-house wid?' You 'member, I was married to WashWilliams dat time--Wash Williams wha' live down heah at de cross-roadsnow. He's married to Yaller Silvy now. You know dat red-headfreckled-face yaller gal dat use to sew for Mis' Ann Powers--alwayswear a sailor hat--wid a waist on her no thicker'n my wris'--an' ahitch in her walk eve'y time she pass a man? Dat's de gal. She stoleWash f'om me--an' she's welcome to 'im. Any 'oman is welcome to any manshe kin git f'om me. Dat's my principle. But dese heah yaller freckleniggers 'ain't got no principle _to_ 'em. I done heerd dat all mylife--an' Silvy she done proved it. Time Wash an' me was married he wasa man in good chu'ch standin'--a reg'lar ordained sexton, at sixdollars a month--an' I done de sweepin' for him. Dat's huccome Ihappened to have dat green-handle sto'e broom. Dat's all I ever did gitout o' his wages. Any day you'd pass Rose-o'-Sharon Chu'ch dem days youcould see him settin' up on de steps, like a gent'eman, an' I sho' didtake pride in him. An' now, dey tell me, Silvy she got him down toshirt-sleeves--splittin' rails, wid his breeches gallused up wid twine, while she sets in de cabin do' wid a pink caliker Mother Hubbardwrapper on fannin' 'erse'f. An' on Saturdays, when he draw his pay, you'll mos' gin'ally see 'em standin' together at de hat an' ribbonshow-case in de sto'e--he grinnin' for all he's worth. An' my belief ishe grins des to hide his mizry. "

"You certainly were very good to do his sweeping for him. " Tamar'sgraphic picture of a rather strained situation was so humorous that itwas hard to take calmly. But her mistress tried to disguise heramusement so far as possible. To her surprise, the question seemed torestore the black woman to a fresh sense of her dignity in thesituation. 

"Cert'ny I done it, " she exclaimed, dramatically. "Cert'ny. You reckonI'd live in de house wid a man dat 'd handle a broom? No, ma'am. Nex'thing I'd look for him to sew. No, ma'am. But I started a-tellin' youhuccome I come to know dat Pompey an' Sis' Sophy-Sophia was legallymarried wid a broom. One day he come over to my cabin, jes like Icommenced tellin' you, an' he s'lute me wid, 'Good-mornin', Sis' Tamar;I come over to see ef you won't please, ma'am, loand Sister Sophy-SophiaSanders dat straw broom wha' you sweeps out de chu'ch-house wid, please, ma'am?' An' I ricollec's de answer I made him. I laughed, an' I say, 'Well, Pompey, ' I say, 'I don't know about loandin' out a chu'ch broomto a sinner like you. ' An' at dat he giggle, 'Well, we wants it toplay preacher--an' dat seems like a mighty suitable job for a chu'chbroom. ' An' of co'se wid dat I passed over de broom, wid my bestwushes to de bride; an' when he fetched it back, I ricollec', hefetched me a piece o' de weddin'-cake--but it warn't no mo'n commonone-two-three-fo'-cup-cake wid about seventeen onfriendly reesonsstirred into it wid brown sugar. I 'clare, when I looks back, I sho'is ashamed to know dat dey was ever sech a po' weddin'-cake in myfamily--I sho' is. Now you know, missy, of co'se, dese heahbroom--weddin's dey ain't writ down in nuther co't-house nur chu'chbooks--an' so ef any o' dese heah smarty meddlers was to try to bringup ole sco'es an' say dat Sister Sophy-Sophia wasn't legally married, dey wouldn't be no witnesses _but me an' de broom_, an' I'd have towitness _for it_, an'--an' _I_ wouldn't be no legal witness. "

"Why wouldn't you be a legal witness, Tamar?"

"'_Caze I got de same man_--an' dat's de suspiciouses' thing dey kinbring up ag'ins' a witness--so dey tell me. Ef 'twarn't for dat, I'd'a' had her fun'al preached las' month. "

"But even supposing the matter had been stirred up--and you had beenunable to prove that everything was as you wished--wouldn't yourminister have preached a funeral sermon anyway?"

"Oh yas, 'm, cert'n'y. On'y de fun'al he'd preach wouldn't help her torest in her grave--dat's de on'ies' diffe'ence. Like as not dey'd gitole Brother Philemon Peters down f'om de bottom-lands to preachwrath--an' I wants grace preached at Sister Sophy-Sophia's fun'al, evenef I has to wait ten years for it. She died in pain, but I hope for herto rest in peace--an' not to disgrace heaven wid crutches under herwings, nuther. I know half a dozen loud-prayers, now, dat 'd be on'y tooglad to 'tract attention away f'om dey own misdoin's by rakin' outscandalizemint on a dead 'oman. Dey'd 'spute de legalness of datmarriage in a minute, jes to keep folks f'om lookin' up dey own weddin'papers--yas, 'm. But me an' de broom--we layin' low, now, an' keepin'still, but we'll speak when de time comes at de jedgmint day, ef sheneed a witness. "

"But tell me, Tamar, why didn't Pompey take his bride to the church ifthey wanted a regular wedding?"

"Dey couldn't, missy. Dey couldn't on account o' Sis' Sophy-Sophia'ssecon' husband, Sam Sanders. He hadn't made no secon' ch'ice yit--an', you know, when de fust one of a parted couple marries ag'in, dey'bleeged to take to de broomstick--less'n dey go whar 'tain't known on'em. Dat's de rule o' divo'cemint. When Yaller Silvy married my Joe wida broomstick, dat lef' me free for a chu'ch marriage. An' I tell you, _I had it, too_. But ef she had a'tempted to walk up a chu'ch aislewid Joe--an' me still onmarried--well, I wush dey'd 'a' tried it! I'd'a' been standin' befo' de pulpit a-waitin' for 'em--an' I'd 'a' quotedsome Scripture at 'em, too. But dey acted accordin' to law. Dey marriedquiet, wid a broomstick, an' de nex' Sunday walked in chu'ch together, took de same pew, an' he turned her pages mannerly for her--an' dat's deladylikest behavior Silvy ever been guilty of in her life, I reckon. Shean' him can't nair one of 'em read, but dey sets still an' holds de bookan' turns de pages--an' Gord Hisself couldn't ax no mo' for chu'chbehavior. But lemme go on wid my washin', missy--for Gord's sake. "

Laughing again now, she drew a match from the ledge of one of therafters, struck it across the sole of her bare foot, and began to lightthe fire under her furnace. And as she flattened herself against theground to blow the kindling pine, she added, between puffs, and withoutso much as a change of tone:

"Don't go, please, ma'am, tell I git dis charcoal lit to start deseshirts to bile. I been tryin' to fix my mouf to ax you is you got airole crêpe veil you could gimme to wear to chu'ch nex' Sunday--please, ma'am? I 'clare, I wonder what's de sign when you blowin' one way an' alive coal come right back at yer 'gins' de wind?" And sitting upon theground, she added, as she touched her finger to her tongue and rubbed aburnt spot upon her chin: "Pompey 'd be mighty proud ef I could walk inchu'ch by his side in full sisterly mo'nin' nex' Sunday for po' SisterSophy-Sophia--yas, 'm. I hope you kin fin' me a ole crêpe veil, please, ma'am. "

Unfortunately for the full blossoming of this mourning flower ofAfro-American civilization, as it is sometimes seen to bloom along theby-ways of plantation life, there was not a second-hand veil of crêpeforth-coming on this occasion. There were small compensations, however, in sundry effective accessories, such as a crêpe collar and bonnet, notto mention a funereal fan of waving black plumes, which Pompeyflourished for his wife's benefit during the entire service. Certainlythe "speritu'l foster-sister" of the mourning bride, if she witnessedthe tribute paid her that Sunday morning in full view of the entirecongregation--for the bridal pair occupied the front pew under thepulpit--would have been obdurate indeed if she had not been somewhatmollified. 

Tamar consistently wore her mourning garb for some months, and, so faras is known, it made no further impression upon her companions than tocause a few smiles and exchanges of glances at first among those oflighter mind among them, some of whom were even so uncharitable as toinsinuate that Sis' Tamar wasn't "half so grieved as she let on. " Themore serious, however, united in commending her act as "mos'Christian-like an' sisterly conduc'. " And when, after the gentleinsistence of the long spring rains, added to the persuasiveness ofTamar's mourning, the grave of her solicitude sank to an easy level, bespeaking peace to its occupant, Tamar suddenly burst into full flowerof flaming color, and the mourning period became a forgotten episode ofthe past. Indeed, in reviewing the ways and doings of the plantation inthose days, it seems entitled to no more prominence in the retrospectthan many another incident of equal ingenuousness and novelty. There wasthe second wooing of old Aunt Salina-Sue, for instance, and Uncle'Riah's diseases; but, as Another would say, these are other stories. 

Another year passed over the plantation, and in the interval the alwaysexpected had happened to the house of Pompey the coachman. It was a tinygirl child, black of hue as both her doting parents, and endowed withthe name of her sire, somewhat feminized for her fitting into the rathereuphonious Pompeylou. Tamar had lost her other children in infancy, andso the pansy-faced little Pompeylou of her mid-life was a great joy toher, and most of her leisure was devoted to the making of the pinkcalico slips that went to the little one's adorning. 

On her first journey into the great world beyond the plantation, however, she was not arrayed in one of these. Indeed, the long gown shewore on this occasion was, like that of her mother, as black as therejuvenated band of crêpe upon her father's stovepipe hat; for, be itknown, this interesting family of three was to form a line of chiefmourners on the front pew of Rose-of-Sharon Church on the occasion ofthe preaching of the funeral of the faithfully mourned and long-lamentedSophy-Sophia, whose hour of posthumous honor had at length arrived. Theobsequies in her memory had been fixed for an earlier date, but indeference to the too-recent arrival of her "nearest of kin" was then tooyoung to attend, they had been deferred by Tamar's request, and it issafe to say that no child was ever brought forward with more pride atany family gathering than was the tiny Miss Pompeylou when she wascarried up the aisle "to hear her step-mammy's funeral preached. "

It was a great day, and the babe, who was on her very bestsix-months-old behavior, listened with admirable placidity to the"sermon of grace, " on which at a future time she might, perhaps, found agenealogy. Her only offence against perfect church decorum was asometimes rather explosive "Agoo!" as she tried to reach theever-swaying black feather fan that was waved by her parents in turn forher benefit. Before the service was over, indeed, she had secured andtorn the proud emblem into bits; but Tamar only smiled at its demolitionby the baby fingers. It was a good omen, she said, and meant that theday of mourning was over. 

THE DEACON'S MEDICINE

When the doctor drove by the Gregg farm about dusk, and saw old DeaconGregg perched cross-legged upon his own gatepost, he knew that somethingwas wrong within, and he could not resist the temptation to drive up andspeak to the old man. 

It was common talk in the neighborhood that when Grandmother Gregg madethings too warm for him in-doors, the good man, her spouse, was wont tostroll out to the front gate and to take this exalted seat. 

Indeed, it was said by a certain Mrs. Frequent, a neighbor of pryingproclivities and ungentle speech, that the deacon's wife sent him thereas a punishment for misdemeanors. Furthermore, this same Mrs. Frequentdid even go so far as to watch for the deacon, and when she would seehim laboriously rise and resignedly poise himself upon the narrow area, she would remark:

"Well, I see Grandma Gregg has got the old man punished again. Wonderwhat he's been up to now?"

Her constant repetition of the unkind charge finally gained for it suchcredence that the diminutive figure upon the gate-post became an objectof mingled sympathy and mirth in the popular regard. 

The old doctor was the friend of a lifetime, and he was sincerelyattached to the deacon, and when he turned his horse's head towards thegate this evening, he felt his heart go out in sympathy to the old manin durance vile upon his lonely perch. 

But he had barely started to the gate when he heard a voice which herecognized as the deacon's, whereupon he would have hurried away had nothis horse committed him to his first impulse by unequivocally facing thegate. 

"I know three's a crowd, " he called out cheerily as he presently drewrein, "but I ain't a-goin' to stay; I jest--Why, where's grandma?" headded, abruptly, seeing the old man alone. "I'm shore I heard--"

"You jest heerd me a-talkin' to myself, doctor--or not to myself, exactly, neither--that is to say, when you come up I was addressin' myremarks to this here pill. "

"Bill? I don't see no bill. " The doctor drew his buggy nearer. He was alittle deaf. 

"No; I said this pill, doctor. I'm a-holdin' of it here in the pa'm o'my hand, a-studyin' over it. "

"What's she a-dosin' you for now, Enoch?"

The doctor always called the deacon by his first name when he approachedhim in sympathy. He did not know it. Neither did the deacon, but he feltthe sympathy, and it unlocked the portals of his heart. 

"Well"--the old man's voice softened--"she thinks I stand in need of'em, of co'se. The fact is, that yaller-spotted steer run ag'in herclo'esline twice-t to-day--drug the whole week's washin' onto theground, an' then tromped on it. She's inside a-renchin' an' a-starchin'of 'em over now. An' right on top o' that, I come in lookin' sort o'puny an' peaked, an' I happened to choke on a muskitty jest ez I comein, an' she declared she wasn't a-goin' to have a consumpted man sick onher hands an' a clo'es-destroyin' steer at the same time. An' with thatshe up an' wiped her hands on her apron, an' went an' selected this herepill out of a bottle of assorted sizes, an' instructed me to take it. They never was a thing done mo' delib'rate an' kind--never on earth. Butof co'se you an' she know how it plegs me to take physic. You couldmould out ice-cream in little pill shapes an' it would gag me, even ef'twas vanilly-flavored. An' so, when I received it, why, I jest come outhere to meditate. You can see it from where you set, doctor. It's apurty sizeable one, and I'm mighty suspicious of it. "

The doctor cleared his throat. "Yas, I can see it, Enoch--of co'se. "

"Could you jedge of it, doctor? That is, of its capabilities, I mean?"

"Why, no, of co'se not--not less'n I'd taste it, an' you can do that ezwell ez I can. If it's quinine, it'll be bitter; an' ef it's soggyan'--"

"Don't explain no mo', doctor. I can't stand it. I s'pose it's jest ezfoolish to investigate the inwardness of a pill a person is bound totake ez it would be to try to lif the veil of the future in any otherway. When I'm obligated to swaller one of 'em, I jest take a swig o'good spring water and repeat a po'tion of Scripture and commit myselfunto the Lord. I always seem foreordained to choke to death, but Inotice thet ef I recover from the first spell o' suffocation, I alwayscome through. But I 'ain't never took one yet thet I didn't in a mannerprepare to die. "

"Then I wouldn't take it, Enoch. Don't do it. " The doctor cleared histhroat again, but this time he had no trouble to keep the corners of hismouth down. His sympathy robbed him for the time of the humor in thesituation. "No, I wouldn't do it--doggone ef I would. "

The deacon looked into the palm of his hand and sighed. "Oh yas, Ireckon I better take it, " he said, mildly. "Ef I don't stand in need ofit now, maybe the good Lord'll sto'e it up in my system, some way, 'g'inst a future attackt. "

"Well"--the doctor reached for his whip--"well, _I_ wouldn't doit--_steer or no steer_!"

"Oh yas, I reckon you would, doctor, ef you had a wife ez worrited overa wash-tub ez what mine is. An' I had a extry shirt in wash this week, too. One little pill ain't much when you take in how she's beentantalized. "

The doctor laughed outright. 

"Tell you what to do, Enoch. Fling it away and don't let on. She don'tquestion you, does she?"

"No, she 'ain't never to say questioned me, but--Well, I tried thatonce-t. Sampled a bitter white capsule she gave me, put it down forquinine, an' flung it away. Then I chirped up an' said I felt a heapbetter--and that wasn't no lie--which I suppose was on account o' therelief to my mind, which it always did seem to me capsules was jestconstructed to lodge in a person's air-passages. Jest lookin' at a boxof 'em'll make me low-sperited. Well, I taken notice thet she'd look atme keen now an' ag'in, an' then look up at the clock, an' treckly I seeher fill the gou'd dipper an' go to her medicine-cabinet, an' then shecome to me an' she says, says she, 'Open yore mouth!' An' of co'se Iopened it. You see that first capsule, ez well ez the one she had jestadministered, was mostly morphine, which she had give me to ward off a'tackt o' the neuraligy she see approachin', and here I had been tryin'to live up to the requi'ements of quinine, an' wrastlin' severe with asleepy spell, which, ef I'd only knew it, would o' saved me. Of co'se, after the second dose-t, which I swallered, I jest let nature take itsco'se, an' treckly I commenced to doze off, an' seemed like I was afeather-bed an' wife had hung me on the fence to sun, an' I remember howshe seemed to be a-whuppin' of me, but it didn't hurt. Of co'se nothin'couldn't hurt me an' me all benumbed with morphine. An' I s'pose whatput the feather-bed in my head was on account of it bein' goose-pickin'time, an' she was werrited with windy weather, an' she tryin' to fillthe feather-beds. No, I won't never try to deceive her ag'in. It neverhas seemed to me thet she could have the same respect for me afterketchin' me at it, though she 'ain't never referred to it but once-t, an' that was the time I was elected deacon, an' even then she didn't doit outspoke. She seemed mighty tender over it, an' didn't no mo'n remindme thet a officer in a Christian church ought to examine hisself mightyconscientious an' be sure he was free of deceit, which, seemed to me, showed a heap 'o' consideration. She 'ain't got a deceitful bone in herbody, doctor. "

 [Illustration: "SAYS SHE, 'OPEN YORE MOUTH. ' AN' OF CO'SE I OPENED IT"]

"Why, bless her old soul, Enoch, you know thet I think the world an' allo' Grandma Gregg! She's the salt o' the earth--an' rock-salt at that. She's saved too many o' my patients by her good nursin', in spite o' mypoor doctorin', for me not to appreciate her. But that don't reconcileme to the way she doses you for her worries. "

"It took me a long time to see that myself, doctor. But I've reasoned itout this a-way: I s'pose when she feels her temper a-risin' she's 'feerdthet she might be so took up with her troubles thet she'd neglect myhealth, an' so she wards off any attackt thet might be comin' on. Itaken notice that time her strawberry preserves all soured on her hands, an' she painted my face with iodine, a man did die o' the erysipelasdown here at Battle Creek, an' likely ez not she'd heerd of it. Sir? No, I didn't mention it at the time for fear she'd think best to lay onanother coat, an' I felt sort o' disfiggured with it. Wife ain't ascoldin' woman, I'm thankful for that. An' some o' the peppermints an'things she keeps to dole out to me when she's fretted with littlethings--maybe her yeast'll refuse to rise, or a thunder-storm'll kill asettin' of eggs--why, they're so disguised thet _'cep'n thet I knowthey're medicine_--"

"Well, Kitty, I reckon we better be a-goin'. " The doctor tapped hishorse. "Be shore to give my love to grandma, Enoch. An' ef you're boundto take that pill--of co'se I can't no mo'n speculate about it at thisdistance, but I'd advise you to keep clear o' sours an' acids for a dayor so. Don't think, because your teeth are adjustable, thet none o' yoreother functions ain't open to salivation. _Good_-night, Enoch. "

"Oh, she always looks after that, doctor. She's mighty attentive, cometo withholdin' harmful temptations. Good-bye, doctor. It's did me goodto open my mind to you a little. 

"Yas, " he added, looking steadily into his palm as the buggy rolledaway--"yas, it's did me good to talk to him; but I ain't no morereconciled to you, you barefaced, high-foreheaded little roly-poly, you. Funny how a pill thet 'ain't got a feature on earth can look me out o'countenance the way it can, and frustrate my speech. Talk about whitedsepulchures, an' ravenin' wolves! I don't know how come I to let on thetI was feelin' puny to-night, nohow. I might've knew--with all themclo'es bedaubled over--though I can't, ez the doctor says, see how mea-takin' a pill is goin' to help matters--but of co'se I wouldn't let onto him, an' he a bachelor. "

He stopped talking and felt his wrist. 

"Maybe my pulse is obstropulous, an' ought to be sedated down. ReckonI'll haf to kill that steer--or sell him, one--though I swo'e Iwouldn't. But of co'se I swo'e that in a temper, an' temp'rate vowsain't never made 'cep'in' to be repented of. "

Several times during the last few minutes, while the deacon spoke, therehad come to him across the garden from the kitchen the unmistakable odorof fried chicken. 

He had foreseen that there would be a good supper to-night, and that thetiny globule within his palm would constitute for him a prohibitionconcerning it. 

Grandmother Gregg was one of those worthy if difficult women who neverlet anything interfere with her duty as she saw it magnified by thelenses of pain or temper. It usually pleased her injured mood to makewaffles on wash-day, and the hen-house owed many renovations, with areckless upsetting of nests and roosts, to one of her "splittin'headaches. " She would often wash her hair in view of impending company, although she averred that to wet her scalp never failed to bring on the"neuraligy. " And her "neuraligy" in turn meant medicine for the deacon. 

It was probably the doctor's timely advice, augmented, possibly, by thepotencies of the frying-pan, with a strong underlying sympathy with theworrying woman within--it was, no doubt, all these powers combined thatsuddenly surprised the hitherto complying husband into suchunprecedented conduct that any one knowing him in his old character, andseeing him now, would have thought that he had lost his mind. 

With a swift and brave fling he threw the pill far into the night. Then, in an access of energy born of internal panic, he slid nimbly from hisperch and started in a steady jog-trot into the road, wiping away thetears as he went, and stammering between sobs as he stumbled over theruts:

"No, I won't--yas, I will, too--doggone shame, and she frettin' her lifeout--of co'se I will--I'll sell 'im for anything he'll fetch--an' I'llbe a better man, yas, yas I will--but I won't swaller another one o'them blame--not ef I die for it. "

This report, taken in long-hand by an amused listener by the road-side, is no doubt incomplete in its ejaculatory form, but it has at least thevalue of accuracy, so far as it goes, which may be had only from averbatim transcript. 

It was perhaps three-quarters of an hour later when Enoch entered thekitchen, wiping his face, nervous, weary, embarrassed. Supper was on thetable. The blue-bordered dish, heaped with side bones and second jointsdone to a turn, was moved to a side station, while in its accustomedplace before Enoch's plate there sat an ominous bowl of gruel. The oldman did not look at the table, but he saw it all. He would have realizedit with his eyes shut. Domestic history, as well as that of greaterprincipalities and powers, often repeats itself. 

Enoch's fingers trembled as he came near his wife, and standing with hisback to the table, began to untie a broad flat parcel that he hadbrought in under his arm. She paused in one of her trips between thetable and stove, and regarded him askance. 

"Reckon I'll haf to light the lantern befo' I set down to eat, wife, " hesaid, by way of introduction. "Isrul'll be along d'rec'ly to rope thatsteer. I've done sold him. " The good woman laid her dish upon the tableand returned to the stove. 

"Pity you hadn't 'a' sold 'im day befo' yesterday. I'd 'a' had a heapless pain in my shoulder-blade. " She sniffed as she said it; and thenshe added, "That gruel ought to be e't warm. "

By this time the parcel was open. There was a brief display of coloredzephyrs and gleaming card-board. Then Enoch began re-wrapping them. 

"Reckon you can look these over in the morn-in', wife. They're jest afew new cross-stitch Bible texts, an' I knowed you liked Scripturemotters. Where'll I lay 'em, wife, while I go out an' tend to lightin'that lantern? I told Isrul I'd set it in the stable door so's he couldgit that steer out o' the way immejate. "

The proposal to lay the mottoes aside was a master-stroke. 

The aggrieved wife had already begun to wipe her hands on her apron. Still, she would not seem too easily appeased. 

"I do hope you 'ain't gone an' turned that whole steer into perforatedpaper, Enoch, even ef 'tis Bible-texted over. "

Thus she guarded her dignity. But even as she spoke she took the parcelfrom his hands. This was encouragement enough. It presaged a thawingout. And after Enoch had gone out to light the lantern, it would haveamused a sympathetic observer to watch her gradual melting as she lookedover the mottoes:

 "A VIRTUOUS WIFE IS FAR ABOVE RUBIES. "

 "A PRUDENT WIFE IS FROM THE LORD. "

 "BETTER A DINNER OF HERBS WHERE LOVE IS--"

She read them over and over. Then she laid them aside and looked atEnoch's plate. Then she looked at the chicken-dish, and now at the bowlof gruel which she had carefully set on the back of the stove to keepwarm. 

"Don't know ez it would hurt 'im any ef I'd thicken that gruel up intomush. He's took sech a distaste to soft food sense he's got that newset. "

She rose as she spoke, poured the gruel back into the pot, sifted andmixed a spoonful of meal and stirred it in. This done, she hesitated, glanced at the pile of mottoes, and reflected. Then with a suddenresolve she seized the milk-pitcher, filled a cup from it, poured themilk into the little pot of mush, hastily whipped up two eggs with somesugar, added the mixture to the pot, returned the whole to the yellowbowl, and set it in the oven to brown. 

And just then Enoch came in, and approached the water-shelf. 

"Don't keer how you polish it, a brass lantern an' coal ile is likemurder on a man's hands. It will out. "

He was thinking of the gruel, and putting off the evil hour. It had beenhis intention to boldly announce that he hadn't taken his medicine, thathe never would again unless he needed it, and, moreover, that he wasgoing to eat his supper to-night, and always, as long as God shouldspare him, etc. , etc. , etc. 

But he had no sooner found himself in the presence of long-confessedsuperior powers than he knew that he would never do any of these things. 

His wife was thinking of the gruel too when she encouraged delay byremarking that he would better rest up a bit before eating. 

"And I reckon you better soak yo' hands good. Take a pinch o' that branout o' the safe to 'em, " she added, "and ef that don't do, the Floridywater is in on my bureau. "

When finally Enoch presented himself, ready for his fate, she was ableto set the mush pudding, done to a fine brown, before him, and her tonewas really tender as she said:

"This ain't very hearty ef you're hungry; but you can eat it all. Thereain't no interference in it with anything you've took. "

The pudding was one of Enoch's favorite dishes, but as he broke itsbrown surface with his spoon he felt like a hypocrite. He took one longbreath, and then he blurted:

"By-the-way, wife, this reminds me, I reckon you'll haf to fetch meanother o' them pills. I dropped that one out in the grass--that is, efyou think I still stand in need of it. I feel consider'ble better'n Idid when I come in this evenin'. "

The good woman eyed him suspiciously a minute. Then her eyes fell uponthe words "ABOVE RUBIES" lying upon the table. Reaching over, she liftedthe pudding-bowl aside, took the dish of fried chicken from itssub-station, and set it before her lord. 

"Better save that pudd'n' for dessert, honey, an' help yo'self to someo' that chicken, an' take a potater an' a roll, and eat a couple o' themspring onions--they're the first we've had. Sence you're a-feelin'better, maybe it's jest ez well thet you mislaid that pill. "

 * * * *

The wind blows sometimes from the east in Simkinsville, as elsewhere, and there are still occasional days when the deacon betakes himself tothe front gate and sits like a nineteenth-century Simon Stilites on hispillar, contemplating the open palm of his own hand, while he enrichesMrs. Frequent's _répertoire_ of gossip by a picturesque item. 

But the reverse of the picture has much of joy in it; for, in spite ofher various tempers, Grandmother Gregg is a warm-hearted soul--and sheloves her man. And he loves her. 

Listen to him to-night, for instance, as, having finished his supper, heremarks:

"An' I'm a-goin' to see to it, from this on, thet you ain't fretted withthings ez you've been, ef I can help it, wife. Sometimes, the way I act, I seem like ez ef I forgit you're all I've got--on earth. "

"Of co'se I reelize that, Enoch, " she replies. "We're each one all theother's got--an' that's why I don't spare no pains to keep you inhealth. "

TWO GENTLEMEN OF LEISURE

One could see at a glance that they were gentlemen as they strolledleisurely along, side by side, through Madison Square, on Christmasmorning. 

A certain subtle charm--let us call it a dignified aimlessness--hungabout them like an easy garment, labelling them as mild despisers ofambitions, of goals, of destinations, of conventionalities. 

The observer who passed from casual contemplation of their unkempt locksto a closer scrutiny perceived, even in passing them, that their shoeswere not mates, while the distinct bagging at the knees of theirtrousers was somewhat too high in one case, and too low in the other, toencompass the knees within which were slowly, but surely, gaining tardysecondary recognitions at points more or less remote from the firstimpressions. 

One pair was a trifle short in the legs, while the other--they of thetoo-low knee-marks--were turned up an inch or two above the shoes: astyle which in itself may seem to savor of affectation, and yet, takenwith the wearer on this occasion, dispelled suspicion. 

It seemed rather a cold day to sit on a bench in Madison Square, and yetour two gentlemen, after making a casual tour of the walks, sat easilydown; and, indeed, though passers hurried by in heavy top-coats andfurs, it seemed quite natural that these gentlemen should be seated. 

One or two others, differing more or less as individuals from ourfriends, but evidently members of the same social caste, broadlyspeaking, were also sitting in the square, apparently as oblivious tothe cold as they. 

"The hardest thing to bear, " the taller one, he of the short trousers, was saying, as he dropped his shapely wrist over the iron arm of thebench, "the hardest thing for the individual, under the present system, is the arbitrariness of the assignments of life. The chief advantage ofthe Bellamy scheme seems to me to be in its harmonious adjustments, soto speak. Every man does professionally what he can best do. If you andI had been reared under that system, now--"

"What, think you, would Bellamy the prophet have made of you, Humphrey?"

"Well, sir, his government would have taken pains to discover anddevelop my tendency, my drift--"

"Ah, I see. I should judge that nature had endowed you with a fine bumpof drift, Humphrey. But has it not been rather well cared for? Thetrouble with drifting is, so say the preachers, that it necessarilycarries one downstream. "

"To the sea, the limitless, the boundless, the ultimatum--however, thisis irrelevant and frivolous. I am serious--and modest, I assureyou--when I speak of my gifts. I have, as you know, a pronounced gift atrepartee. Who knows what this might have become under properdevelopment? But it has been systematically snubbed, misunderstood, dubbed impertinence, forsooth. "

"If I remember aright, it was your gift of repartee that--wasn't itsomething of that sort which severed your connection with college?"

"Yes, and here I am. That's where the shoe pinches. Ha! and by way ofliteral illustration, speaking of the mal-adjustments of life, witnessthis boot. "

The speaker languidly extended his right foot. 

"The fellow who first wore it had bunions, blast him, and I come intohis bunion-bulge with a short great toe. As a result, here I am in NewYork in December, instead of absorbing sunshine and the odor of violetsin Jackson Square in New Orleans, with picturesqueness and color allabout me. No man could start South with such a boot as that. 

"I do most cordially hope that the beastly vulgarian who shaped it hasgone, as my friend Mantalini would express it, 'to the demnitionbow-wows. ' You see the beauty of the Bellamy business is that allcallings are equally worthy. As a social factor I should have made arecord, and would probably have gone into history as a wit. "

"Condemn the history! You'd have gone into life, Humphrey. That'senough. You'd have gone into the home--into your own bed at night--intodinner in a dress-coat--into society, your element--into posterity inyour brilliant progeny, paterfamilias--"

"Enough, Colonel. There are some things--even from an old comrade likeyourself--"

"Beg pardon, Humphrey. No offence meant, I assure you. 

"It's only when life's fires are burning pretty low that we may ventureto stir the coals and knock off the ashes a little. 

"For myself, I don't mind confessing, Humphrey, that there have beenwomen--Don't start; there isn't even a Yule-log smouldering on myheart's hearth to-day. I can stir the smoking embers safely. I say therehave been women--a woman I'll say, even--a nursemaid, whom I have seenin this park--a perfect Juno. She was well-born I'd swear, by herdelicate ears, her instep, her curved nostrils--"

"Did you ever approach your goddess near enough to catch her curvedarticulation, Colonel? Or doubtless it flowed in angles, Anglo-Saxonpura. "

"You are flippant, Humphrey. I say if this woman had had educationaladvantages and--and if my affairs had looked up a little, well--there'sno telling! And yet, to tell you this to-day does not even warm myheart. "

"Nor rattle a skeleton within its closet?"

"Not a rattle about me, sir, excepting the rattle of these beastlynewspapers on my chest. Have a smoke, Humphrey?"

The Colonel presented a handful of half-burned cigar-stubs. 

"No choice. They're all twenty-five-centers, assorted from a Waldorflot. "

"Thanks. "

Humphrey took three. The Colonel, reserving one for his own use, droppedthe rest into his outer pocket. 

And now eleven men passed, smoking, eleven unapproachables, before onedropped a burning stump. 

As Humphrey rose and strode indolently forward to secure the fragment, there was a certain courtliness about the man that even a pair of shorttrousers could not disguise. It was the same which constrains us towrite him down Sir Humphrey. 

"I never appropriate the warmth of another man's lips, " said he, as, having first presented the light to his friend, he lit a fragment forhimself. Then, pressing out the fire of the last acquisition, he laid itbeside him to cool before adding it to his store. 

"Nor I, " responded the Colonel--"at least, I never did but once. Ihappened to be walking behind General Grant, and he dropped a smokingstub--"

"Which you took for Granted--"

"If you will, yes. It was a bit sentimental, I know, but I ratherenjoyed placing it warm from his lips to mine. It was to me a sort ofcalumet, a pipe of peace, for rebel that I was, and am, I alwaysrespected Grant. Then, too, I fancied that I might deceive the fragmentinto surrendering its choicest aroma to me, since I surprised it in theattitude of surrender, and I believe it did. "

"Sentimental dog that you are!" said Sir Humphrey, smiling, as heinserted the remaining bit of his cigar into an amber tip and returnedit to his lips. 

"You have never disclosed to me, Humphrey, where you procured that pieceof bric-à-brac?"

"Haven't I? That is because of my Bostonian reticence. No secret, Iassure you. I found it, sir, in the lining of this coat. The fair donorof this spacious garment on one occasion, at least, gave a _tip_ toa beggar unawares. "

"Exceptional woman. Seems to me the exceptional beggar would havereturned the article. "

"Exceptional case. Didn't find the tip for a month. I was in Mobile atthe time. I should have written my benefactress had stationery beenavailable and had I known her name. When I returned to New York in thespring there was a placard on the house. Otherwise I should haverestored the tip, and trusted to her courtesy for the reward of virtue. "

"You have forgotten that that commodity is its own reward?"

"Yes, and the only reward it ever gets, as a New Orleans wit onceremarked. Hence, here we are. However, returning to my fairbenefactress, I haven't much opinion of her. Any woman who would mendher husband's coat-sleeve with glue--look at this! First moist spell, away it went. Worst of it was I happened to have no garment under it atthe time. However, the incident secured me quite a handsome acquisitionof linen. Happened to run against a clever little tub-shaped woman whoseample bosom, I take it, was ordered especially for the accommodation ofassorted sympathies. She, perceiving my azure-veined elbow, invited meto the dispensing-room of the I. O. U. Society, of which she was amember, and presented me with a roll of garments, and--would you believeit?--there wasn't a tract or leaflet in the bundle--and as to my soul, she never mentioned the abstraction to me. Now, that is what I callChristianity. However, I may come across a motto somewhere, yet. Ofcourse, at my first opportunity, I put on those shirts--one to wear, andthe other three to carry. So I've given them only a cursory examinationthus far. "

"Which one do you consider yourself wearing, Humphrey, and which do youcarry?"

"I wear the _outside_ one, of course--and carry the others. "

"Do you, indeed? Well, now, if I were in the situation, I should feelthat I was wearing the one next my body--and carrying the other three. "

"That's because you are an egotist and can't project yourself. I havethe power the giftie gi'e me, and see myself as others see me. How'sthat for quick adaptation?"

"Quite like you. If the Scotch poet had not been at your elbow with hisoffering, no doubt you'd have originated something quite as good. So youmay be at this moment absorbing condensed theology, _nolensvolens_. "

"For aught I know, yes, under my armpits. However, I sha'n't object, just so the dogmas don't crowd out my morals. My moral rectitude is theone inheritance I proudly retain. I've never sold myself--to anybody. "

"Nor your vote?"

"Nor my vote. True, I have accepted trifling gratuities on electionoccasions; but they never affected my vote. I should have voted the sameway, notwithstanding. "

"Well, sir, I am always persuaded to accept a bonus on such occasionsfor _abstaining_. I have been under pay from both parties, eachsuspecting me of standing with the opposition. Needless to say, I havereligiously kept my contract. I never vote. It involves too muchduplicity for a man of my profession. "

"Not necessarily. I resided comfortably for quite a period in thebasement of the dwelling of a certain political leader in thismetropolis, once. He wished to have me register for his butler, but Istickled for private secretary, and private secretary I was written, sir, though I discovered later that the rogue had registered me assecretary to his coachman. However, the latter was the better man of thetwo--dropped his h's so fast that his master seemed to feel constrainedto send everything to H---- for repairs. "

"What else could you expect for a man of _aspirations_?"

"By thunder, Humphrey, that's not bad. But do you see, by yon clock, that the dinner-hour approacheth?"

The Colonel took from his waistcoat-pocket two bits of paper. 

"Somehow, I miss Irving to-day. There's nothing Irving enjoyed so muchas a free dinner-ticket. I see the X. Y. Z. 's are to entertain us at 1P. M. , and the K. R. G. 's at 4. "

Sir Humphrey produced two similar checks. 

"Well, sir, were Irving here to-day I'd willingly present him with thisPresbyterian chip. There are some things to which I remain sensitive, and I look this ticket in the face with misgivings. It means beingelbowed by a lot of English-slaying mendicants in a motto-bedeckedsaloon, where every bite at the Presbyterian fowl seems a confession offaith that that particular gobbler, or hen, as the case may be, wasfore-ordained, before the beginning of time, to be chewed byyourself--or eschewed, should you decline it. Somehow theology takes thezest out of the cranberries for me. However, _de gustibus_--"

"Well, sir, I am a philosopher, and so was Irving. Poor Irving! He wasnever quite square. It was he, you know, who perpetrated that famousroach fraud that went the rounds of the press. I've seen him do it. Hewould enter a restaurant, order a dinner, and, just before finishing, discover a huge roach, a Croton bug, floating in his plate. Of coursethe insects were his own contribution, but the fellow had a knack ofintroducing them. He could slip a specimen into his omelette soufflé, for instance, dexterously slicing it in half with his knife, with apressure that left nothing to be desired. The interloper, compactlyimbedded, immediately imparted such an atmosphere to his vicinity thateven the cook would have sworn he was baked in. I blush to say I wasIrving's guest on one such occasion. "

"And Sir Roach paid for both dinners?"

"Bless you, yes. Sir Roach, F. R. S. (fried, roasted, or stewed). Indeed, his hospitality did not end here. We were pressed to call again, andbegged not to mention the incident. Of course, this was in our moreprosperous days, before either of us had taken on the stamp of ourexclusiveness. Even Irving would hesitate to try it now, I fancy. "

"Poor Irving! A good fellow, but morally insane. In Baton Rouge now, Ibelieve?"

"Yes. He changed overcoats with a gentleman. 

"I wonder how the cooking is in that State institution, Humphrey? Irvingis such an epicure--"

"Oh, he's faring well enough, doubtless. Trust those Louisianians forcookery. When Irving is in New Orleans there are special houses wherehe drops in on Fridays, just for _court-bouillon_. I've known him toweed a bed of geraniums rather than miss it. "

"Such are the vicissitudes of pedestrianism. Well, _tempus fugit_; letus be going. We have just an hour to reach our dining-hall. Here comethe crowd from church. The Christmas service is very beautiful. Do yourecall it, Humphrey?"

"Only in spots--like the varioloid. "

They were quite in the crowd now, and so ceased speaking, and presentlythe Colonel was considerably in advance of his companion. So it happenedthat he did not see Humphrey stop a moment, put his foot on a bit ofgreen paper, drop his handkerchief, and in recovering it gather thecrumpled bill into it. 

Thus it came about that when Sir Humphrey overtook his friend, and, tapping him upon the shoulder, invited him to follow him into a famoussaloon, the Colonel raised his eyes in mild surprise. 

Sir Humphrey paid for the drinks with a ten-dollar note, and then thetwo proceeded to the side door of a well-known restaurant. 

"Private dining-room, please, " he said, and he dropped a quarter intothe hands of the servant at the door as he led the way. 

 * * * *

It was two hours later when, having cast up his account from the bill offare, Sir Humphrey, calling for cigars, said: "Help yourself, Colonel. If my arithmetic is correct, we shall enjoy our smoke, have a halfdollar for the waiter, and enter the Square with a whole cigar apiece inour breast pockets--at peace with the world, the flesh, and his Satanicmajesty. Allow me to give you a light. "

He handed the Colonel one of the free dinner-tickets of the X. Y. Z. Society. 

"The Presbyterian blue-light I reserve for my own use. Witness it burn. 

"Well, Colonel, I hope you have enjoyed your dinner?"

"Thoroughly, sir, thoroughly. This is one of the many occasions in mylife, Humphrey, when I rejoice in my early good breeding. Were it notfor that, I should feel constrained to inquire whom you throttled androbbed in crossing Fifth Avenue, two hours ago, during the forty secondswhen my back was turned. "

"And my pious rearing would compel me to answer, 'No one. '

"The wherewithal to procure this Christmas dinner dropped straight fromheaven, Colonel. I saw it fall, and gratefully seized it, just in themiddle of the crossing. "

"Thanks. I have taken the liberty of helping myself to the rest of thematches, Humphrey. "

"Quite thoughtful of you. We'll use one apiece for the other cigars. Doyou know I really enjoyed the first half of that smoke. It was quitelike renewing one's youth. "

And so, in easy converse, they strolled slowly down Fifth Avenue. 

As Sir Humphrey hesitated in his walk, evidently suffering discomfortfrom his right boot, he presently remarked:

"I say, Colonel, I think I'll call around tomorrow at a few of myfriends' houses, and see if some benevolent housewife won't let me havea shoe for this right foot. "

"Or why not try your cigar on the ebony janitor of the apartment-houseacross the way. He has access to the trash-boxes, and could no doubtsecure you a shoe--maybe a pair. "

"Thanks, Colonel, for the suggestion, but there are a few things I neverdo. I never fly in the face of Providence. I shall smoke that cigarintact. "

And they walked on. 

THE REV. JORDAN WHITE'S THREE GLANCES

The Reverend Jordan White, of Cold Spring Baptist Church, was so utterlydestitute of color in his midnight blackness of hue as to be consideredthe most thoroughly "colored" person on Claybank plantation, Arkansas. 

That so black a man should have borne the name of White was one of thefew of such familiar misfits to which the world never becomes insensiblefrom familiarity. From the time when Jordan, a half-naked urchin of six, tremblingly pronounced his name before the principal's desk in thesummer free Claybank school to the memorable occasion of hisregistration as an Afro-American voter, the announcement had neverfailed to evoke a smile, accompanied many times by good-humoredpleasantry. 

"Well, sir, " so he had often laughed, "I reck'n dey must o' gimme dename o' White fur a joke. But de Jordan--I don' know, less'n dey namedme Jordan 'caze ev'ybody was afeerd ter cross me. "

From which it seems that the surname was not an inheritance. 

In his clerical suit of black, with standing collar and shirt-frontmatched in fairness only by his marvellously white teeth and eyeballs, Jordan was a most interesting study in black and white. 

There were no intermediate shades about him. Even his lips were black, or of so dark a purple as to fail to maintain an outline of color. Theylooked black, too. 

Jordan was essentially ugly, too, with that peculiar genius for uglinesswhich must have inspired the familiar saying current among plantationfolk, "He's so ogly tell he's purty. "

There is a certain homeliness of person, a combined result of type anddegree, which undeniably possesses a peculiar charm, fascinating the eyemore than confessed beauty of a lesser degree or more conventional form. 

Jordan was ugly in this fashion, and he who glanced casually upon hisebony countenance rarely failed to look again. 

He was a genius, too, in more ways than one. 

If nature gave him two startling eyes that moved independently of eachother, Jordan made the most of the fact, as will be seen by thefollowing confession made on the occasion of my questioning him as tothe secret of his success as a preacher. 

"Well, sir, " he replied, "yer see, to begin wid: I got three glances, an' dat gimme three shots wid ev'y argimint. 

"When I'm a preachin' I looks straight at one man an' lays his case outso clair he can't miss it, but, you see, all de time I'm a-layin' himout, my side glances is takin' in two mo'. "

"But, " I protested, "I should think he whom you are looking at anddescribing in so personal a manner would get angry, and--"

"So he would, sir, if he knowed I was lookin' at him. _But he don'tknow it_. You know, dat's my third glance an' hit's my secret glance. You see, if my reel glance went straight, I'd have ter do like de resto' you preachers, look at one man while yer hittin' de man behin' 'im, an' dat's de way dey _think I is doin_', whiles all de time I'm awatchin' 'im wriggle. 

"Of cose, sometimes I uses my glances diff'ent ways. Sometimes I deslets 'em loose p'omiskyus fur a while tell ev'ybody see blue lightnin'in de air, an' de mo'ner's bench is full, an' when I see ev'ybody isready ter run fur 'is life, of co'se I eases up an' settles down onwhatever sinner seem like he's de leastest skeered tell I nails 'imfast. "

 [Illustration: "'I DES LETS 'EM LOOSE P'OMISKYUS, TELL EV'YBODY SEE BLUE LIGHTNIN''"]

He hesitated here a moment. 

"De onies' trouble, " he resumed, presently. "De onies' trouble widhavin' mixed glances is 'dat seem like hit confines a man ter preachwrath. 

"So long as I tried preachin' Heaven, wid golden streets an' harpmusic, I nuver fe'ched in a soul, but 'cep'n' sech as was dis a-waitin'fur de open do' _to_ come in. Dat's my onies' drawback, Brer Jones. Sometimes seem like when Heaven comes inter my heart I does crave terpreach it in a song. Of cose, I does preach Heaven yit, but _I bleegeter preach it f'om de Hell side, an' shoo 'em in_!"

There was, I thought, the suspicion of a twinkle lurking in the cornersof his eyes throughout his talk, but it was too obscure for me toventure to interpret it by a responsive smile, and so the question wasput with entire seriousness when I said:

"And yet, Jordan, didn't I hear something of your going to an oculistlast summer?"

"Yas, sir. So I did. Dat's true. " He laughed foolishly now. 

"I did talk about goin' ter one o' deze heah occular-eye doctors las'summer, _and I went once-t_, but I ain't nuver tol' nobody, an' youmustn't say nothin' 'bout it, please, sir. 

"But yer see, sir. " He lowered his voice here to a confidential whisper. "Yer see dat was on account o' de ladies. I was a widder-man den, an', tell de trufe, my mixed glances was gettin' me in trouble. Yer know indealin' wid de ladies, yer don' keer how many glances you got, yer wantster use 'em _one at a time_. Why dey was a yaller lady up heah at decrossroads wha' 'blongs ter my church who come purty nigh ter suein' mein de co't-house, all on account o' one o' my side glances, an' all detime, yer see, my _reel_ glance, hit was settled on Mis' White, wha'sot in de middle pew--but in cose she warn't Mis' White den; she was deWidder Simpson. "

"And so you have been recently married, " I asked; "and how does yourwife feel about the matter?

"Well, yer see, sir, " he answered, laughing, "she can't say nothin', 'caze she's cross-eyed 'erse'f. 

"An' lemme tell you some'h'n', boss. " He lowered his tone again, implying a fresh burst of confidence, while his whole visage seemedtwinkling with merriment. 

"Lemme tell yer some'h'n', boss. You ain't a ma'ied man, is yer?"

I assured him that I was not married. 

"Well, sir, I gwine gi'e you my advice. An' I'm a man o' 'spe'unce. Ibeen ma'ied three times, an' of cose I done consider'ble co'tin' off'nan' on wid all three, not countin' sech p'omiskyus co'tin' roun' as anywidder gemman is li'ble ter do, an' I gwine gi'e you some good advice. 

"Ef ever you falls in love wid air cross-eyed lady, an' craves terco't'er, you des turn down de lamp low 'fo' yer comes ter de fatalp'int, ur else set out on de po'ch in de fainty moonlight, whar yercan't see 'er eyes, caze dey's nothin' puts a co'tin' man out, and meek'im lose 'is pronouns wuss 'n a cross-eye. An' ef it hadn't o' been dat_I knowed what a cook she was_, tell de trufe, de Widder Simpson'scross-eye would o' discour'ged me off enti'ely. 

"But now, " he continued, chuckling; "but now I done got usen ter it;it's purty ter me--seem like hit's got a searchin' glance dat goes out'nits way ter fin' me. "

Needless to say, I found the old man amusing, and when we parted at thecross-roads I was quite willing to promise to drop in some time to hearone of his sermons. 

Although somewhat famed as a preacher, Jordan had made his record inthe pulpit not so much on account of any powers of oratory, _per se_, as through a series of financial achievements. 

During the two years of his ministry he had built a new church edifice, added the imposing parsonage which he occupied, and he rode about thecountry on his pastoral missions, mounted on a fine bay horse--all theresult of "volunteer" contributions. 

And Jordan stood well with his people; the most pious of his foldaccording him their indorsement as heartily as they who hung about theoutskirts of his congregation, and who indeed were unconsciouslysupplying the glamour of his distinguished career; for the secret ofJordan's success lay especially in his power of collecting money from_sinners_. So it came about that, without adding a farthing to theirusual donations, the saints reclined in cushioned pews and listened tothe words of life from a prosperous, well-fed preacher, who wasmanifestly an acceptable sower of vital seed--seed which took root inbrick and mortar, branched out in turret and gable, and flowered beforetheir very eyes in crimson upholstery. 

The truth was that Cold Spring was the only colored church known to itscongregation that boasted anything approaching in gorgeousness itspulpit furnishings of red cotton velvet, and never a curious sinnerdropped in during any of its services for a peep at its grandeur withoutleaving a sufficient quota of his substance to endow him with acomfortable sense of proprietorship in it all. 

The man who has given a brick to the building of the walls of asanctuary has always a feeling of interest in the edifice, whether he beof its fold or not, and if he return to it an old man, it will seem toyield him a sort of welcoming recognition. The brick he gave issomewhere doing its part in sustaining the whole, and the uncertainty ofits whereabouts seems to bestow it everywhere. 

I was not long in finding my way to Jordan's church. It was in summertime, and a large part of his congregation was composed of young girlsand their escorts on the afternoon when I slipped into the pew near thedoor. 

The church was crowded within, while the usual contingent of idlers hungabout the front door and open windows. 

I searched Jordan's face for a few moments, in the hope of discoveringwhether he recognized me or not, but for the life of me I could notdecide. If his "secret glance" ever discerned me in my shadowed corner, neither of the other two betrayed it. 

I soon discovered that there was to be no sermon on this occasion, forwhich I was sorry, as I supposed that his most ambitious effort wouldnaturally take shape in this form. Of this, however, I now have mydoubts. 

After the conventional opening of service with prayer, Scripturereading, and song, he passed with apparent naturalness to thecollection, the ceremony to which everything seemed to tend. 

The opening of this subject was again conventional, the only deviationfrom the ordinary manner of procedure being that, instead of the hat'spassing round it was inverted upon the table beside the pulpit, whilecontributors, passing up the aisles, deposited their contributions andreturned to their seats. 

This in itself, it will be seen, elevated the collection somewhat in thescale of ceremonial importance. 

For some time the house was quite astir with the procession which movedup one side and down the other, many singing fervently as they went, anddramatically holding their coins aloft as they swayed in step with themusic, while above all rose the exhortations of the preacher which waxedin fervor as the first generous impulse began to wane. 

"Drap in yo' dollar!" he was shouting. "Drap in yo' half dollar! Drap inyo' dime! Drap in yo' nickel. Drap in yo' nickel, I say, an' ef yerain't got a nickel, come up an' let's pray fur yer!

"Ef yer ain't got a nickel, " he repeated, encouraged by the titter thatgreeted this; "ef yer ain't got a nickel, come up an' let de wholecongergation pray fur yer! We'll teck up a collection fur any man dat 'lstan' up an' confess he ain't wuth a nickel. "

A half dozen grinning young fellows stepped up now with coins concealedin the palms of their hands. 

"Come on! Come on, all you nickel boys! Come on. 

"Ev'y nickel is a wheel ter keep salvation's train a-movin'! Come on, Isay; bring yo' wheels!

"Ef you ain't got a big wheel fur de ingine fetch a little wheel fur defreight train! We needs a-plenty o' freight kyars on dis salvationtrain. 'Caze hit's loaded up heavy wid Bibles fur de heathen, an' brickan' lumber to buil' churches, an' medicine fur de sick, an' ole clo'esfur de po'--heap ob 'em wid de buttons cut off'n 'em, but dat ain't ourfault, we bleeged ter sen' 'em on! Fetch on yo' little wheels, I say, fur de freight train. "

There had been quite a respectable response to this appeal thus far, butagain it spent itself and there was a lull when Jordan, folding hisarms, and looking intently before him, in several directions apparently, exclaimed in a most tragic tone:

"My Gord! Is de salvation train done stallded right in front o' Claybankchu'ch, an' we can't raise wheels ter sen' it on?

"Lord have mussy, I say! I tell yer, my brers an' sisters, you'sa-treatin' de kyar o' glory wuss'n you'd treat a ole cotton mule wagon!You is, fur a fac'!

"Ef air ole mule wagon ur a donkey-kyart was stallded out in de road infront o' dis chu'ch--don' keer ef it was loaded up wid pippy chickens, much less'n de Lord's own freight--dey ain't one o' yer but 'd raise awheel ter sen' it on! You know yer would! An' heah de salvation trainis stuck deep in de mud, an' yer know Arkansas mud _hit's mud_; hitain't b'iled custard; no, it ain't, an' hit sticks like glue! Heah deglory kyar is stallded in dis tar-colored Arkansas glue-mud, I say, an'I can't raise wheels enough out'n dis congergation ter sen' it on! An'dis is de Holy Sabbath day, too, de day de Lord done special set apart_fur_ h'istin' a oxes out'n a ditch, es much less'n salvation's train. 

"Now, who gwine fetch in de nex' wheel, my brothers, my sisters, mysinner-frien's? Who gwine fetch a wheel? Dat's it! Heah come awheel--two wheels--three wheels; fetch one mo'; heah, a odd wheel; detrain's a-saggin' down lop-sided fur _one mo' wheel_! Heah itcome--f'om a ole 'oman, too! Shame on you, boys, ter let po' ole AuntCharity Pettigrew, wha' nussed yo' mammies, an' is half-blin' an' deefat dat--shame on yer ter let 'er lif' dis train out'n de mud! An' yerknow she kyant heah me nuther. She des brung a wheel 'caze she felt deyearth trimble, an' knowed de train was stallded!

"Oh, my brers, de yearth gwine trimble wuss'n dat one o' deze days, an'look out de rocks don't kiver you over! Don't hol' back dis train ef youc'n he'p it on! I ain't axin' yer fur no paper greenbacks to-day _tolight de ingine fire_!

"I ain't a-beggin' yer fur no gol' an' silver wheels fur de passengertrains for de saints, 'caze yer know de passenger kyars wha' ride interde city o' de King, dey 'bleege ter have gol' and silver wheels termatch de golden streets; but, I say, I ain't axin' yer fur no gol' an'silver wheels to-day, nur no kindlin'! De train is all made up an' deingine is a steamin', an' de b'ilers is full. I say _de b'ilers isfull_, my dear frien's. 

"Full o' what? Whar do dey git water ter run dis gorspil train? Disheah's been a mighty dry season, an' de cotton-fiel's is a-beggin' nowfur water, an' I say _whar do de salvation train git water fur deingine_?

"Oh, my po' sinner-frien's, does you want me ter tell yer?

"De cisterns long de track is bustin' full o' water, an' _so long as asinner got o' tear ter shed_ de water ain't gwine run out!"

"Yas, Lord!" "Glory!" "Amen!" and "Amen!" with loud groans came fromvarious parts of the house now, and many wheels were added to Glory'strain by the men about the door, while Jordan continued:

"Don't be afeerd ter weep! De ingine o' Glory's kyar would o' gi'en outo' water long 'fo' now in deze heah summer dry-drouths if 'twarn't furde tears o' sinners, an' de grief-stricken an' de heavy-hearted! I tellyer Glory's train stops ter teck in water at de mo'ner's bench eve'yday! So don't be afeerd to weep. But bring on de wheels!"

He paused here and looked searchingly about him. 

There was no response. Stepping backward now and running both hands deepinto his pockets, he dropped his oratorical tone, and, falling easilyinto the conversational, continued:

"Well, maybe you right! Maybe you right, my frien's settin' down by dedo', an' my frien's leanin' 'gins' de choir banisters, an' I ain' gwinesay no mo'. I was lookin' fur you ter come up wid some sort o' wheel, an' maybe a silver wheel ter match dat watch-chain hangin' out'n yo'waistcoat-pocket; but maybe you right!

"When a man set still an' say nothin' while de voice is a callin' Ireck'n he knows what he's a-doin'. 

"He knows whether de wheels in his pocket is _fitt'n_ fur de gorspilkyar ur not! An' I say ter you to-day dat ef dat money in yo' pocketain't _clean money_, don't you _dare_ ter fetch it up heah!

"Ef you made dat money sneakin' roun' henrooses in de dark o' demoon--I don't say you is, but _ef_ you is--you set right still in yo'seat an' don't _dare_ ter offer it ter de Lord, I say!

"Ef you backed yo' wagon inter somebody else's watermillion patch by deroadside an' loaded up on yo' way ter town 'fo' sunup--I don't say youis, mind yer, but _ef you is_--set right whar you is, an' do des likeyou been doin', 'caze de money you made on dat early mornin' wagon loadain't fitt'n fur wheels fur de gorspil train!

"An' deze yo'ng men at de winders, I say, ef de wheels in _yo_' pocketscome f'om _matchin' nickels on de roadside, or kyard-playin', or maybedrivin' home de wrong pig_. (You nee'n't ter laugh. De feller datspo'ts de shinies' stovepipe hat of a Sunday sometimes cuts de earsoff'n de shoat he kills of a Sa'day, 'caze de ears got a tell-tale markon 'em. ) _An', I say, ef you got yo' money dat a-way_, won't you desmove back from de winders, please, an' meck room fur some o' demstandin' behin' yer dat got good hones' wheels ter pass in!"

This secured the window crowds intact, and now Jordan turned to thecongregation within. 

"An' now, dear beloved. " He lowered his voice. "For sech as I donespecified, _let us pray_!"

He had raised his hands and was closing his eyes in prayer, when a manrose in the centre of the church. 

"Brer Jordan, " he began, laughing with embarrassment. "Ef some o' debrers ur sisters'll change a dime fur me--"

Jordan opened his eyes and his hands fell. 

"Bless de Lord!" he exclaimed, with feeling. 

"Bless de Lord, one man done claired 'isse'f! Glory, I say! Come on up, Brer Smiff, 'n' I'll gi'e you yo' change!"

"Ef--Brer Smiff'll loan _me_ dat nickel?" said a timid voice near thewindow. 

Smith hesitated, grinning broadly. 

"Ef--ef I could o' spared de dime, Mr. Small, I'd a put it in myse'f, but--but--"

"_But nothin'_! Put de dime in de hat!"

The voice came from near the front now. "Put it all in de hat, BrerSmiff. You owes me a nickel an' I'll loan'd it to Mr. Small. "

And so, amid much laughter, Smith reluctantly deposited his dime. 

Others followed so fast that when Jordan exclaimed, "Who gwine be denex'?" his words were almost lost in the commotion. Still his voice hadits effect. 

"Heah one mo'--two mo'--fo' mo'--eight mo'! Glory, I say! An' heah deycome in de winder! Oh, I'm proud ter see it, yo'ng men! I'm proud tersee it!"

Borrowing or making change was now the order of the moment, as everyindividual present who had not already contributed felt called upon thusto exonerate himself from so grave a charge. 

Amid the fresh stir a tremulous female voice raised a hymn, anothercaught it up, and another--voices strong and beautiful; alto voices softas flute notes blended with the rich bass notes and triumphant tenorsthat welled from the choir, and floated in from the windows, until thebody of the church itself seemed almost to sway with the rhythmicmovement of the stirring hymn

 "Salvation's kyar is movin'. "

 [Illustration: "SALVATION'S KYAR IS MOVIN'!"]

Still, above all, Jordan's voice could be distinguished--as a finemusical instrument, and whether breaking through the tune in a volleyof exhortations, or rising superior to it all in a rich tenor--hiswords thrown in snatches, or drawn out to suit his purpose--never oncedid it mar the wonderful harmony of the whole. 

It was a scene one could not easily forget. 

The shaft of low sunlight that now filled the church, revealing abouquet of brilliant color in gay feathers and furbelows, with agenerous sprinkling of white heads, lit up a set of faces at once soserious and so happy, so utterly forgetful of life's frettings andcares, that I felt as I looked upon them, that their perfect vocalagreement was surely but a faint reflection of a sweet spiritualharmony, which even if it did not survive the moment, was worth a longjourney thither, for in so hearty a confession of fellowship, in socomplete a laying down of life's burdens, there is certainly rest anda renewal of strength. 

Feeling this to be a good time to slip out unobserved, I noiselesslysecured my hat from beneath the pew before me, but I had hardly risenwhen I perceived a messenger hurrying towards me from the pulpit, witha request that I should remain a moment longer, and before I couldtake in the situation the singing was over and Jordan was speaking. 

What he said, as nearly as I can recall it, was as follows:

"Befo' I pernounces de benediction, I wants ter 'spress de thanks o'dis chu'ch ter de 'oner'ble visitor wha' set 'isse'f so modes' in delas' pew dis evenin', _an' den sen' up de bigges' conterbutiom_, fulfillin' de words o' de Scripture, which say _de las' shill be fus'an' de fus' shill be las_'. 

"Brer Chesterfiel' Jones, please ter rise an' receive de thanks o' decongergation fur dat gen'rous five-dollar bill wha' you sont up by BrerPhil Dolittle. "

He paused here, and feeling all eyes turned upon me, I was constrainedto rise to my feet, and I think I can truly say that I have never beensurprised by greater embarrassment than I felt as I hurriedly subsidedto the depths of my corner. Addressing himself now to Dolittle, Jordancontinued:

"I 'ain't see you walk so biggoty in a _long_ time, Brer Dolittle, asyou walked when you fetched up dat five dollars. Ef dis heah 'd been acake walk yo'd o' tooken de prize, sho'. 

"De nex' time dy' all gets up a cake walk on dis plantation, lemmeadvise you ter borry a five-dollar note _f'om somebody dat don't knowyer_, ter tote when yer walk. Hit'll he'p yer ter keep yo' chin up. 

"_An' dat ain't all_. Hit'll he'p _me_ ter keep _my chin up_ when Ica'ys dis greenback bill to de grocery to-morrer an' I'll turn it intoa wheel, too--two wheels, wid a bulge between 'em. Now guess wha' datis?"

The congregation were by this time convulsed with laughter, and some oneanswered aloud:

"A flour-bar'l!"

"Dat's it, Joe, a flour-bar'l! You's a good guesser. 

"An' so now, in de name o' Col' Spring Chu'ch, Brer Jones, I thanks youag'in fur a bar'l o' flour, an' I tecks it mighty kin' o' you too, 'caze I knows deys a heap o' 'Piscopalpalian preachers _wha' wouldn'to' done it!_ Dey'd be 'feerd dat ef dey gi'e any o' de high-risin''Piscopalpalian flour ter de Baptists dat dey'd ruin it wid _col'water!_"

There was so much laughter here that Jordan had to desist for a moment, but he had not finished. 

"_But_, " he resumed, with renewed seriousness--"_But ef Christians on'yknowed it_, dey kin put a _little leaven o' solid Christianity_ in allde charity flour dey gi'es away, an' hit'll _leaven de whole lot_ sostrong dat _too much water can't spile it_, nur _too much fire can'tscorch it_, nur _too much fore-sight_ (ur whatever dis heah is deP'esberteriums mixes in dey bread) _can't set it so stiff it can'trise_, 'caze hit's got de strong leaven o' de spirit in it, an' hit's_boun' ter come up_!

"I see de sun's gitt'n low, an' hit's time ter let down de bars an'turn de sheeps loose, an' de goats too--not sayin' deys any goats indis flock, an' not sayin' dey ain't--but 'fo' we goes out, I wantster say one mo' word ter Brer Dolittle. "

His whole face was atwinkle with merriment now. 

"Dey does say, Brer Dolittle, dat riches is mighty 'ceitful an'mighty ap' ter turn a man's head, an' I tookin' notice dat arter youfetched up Brer Chesterfiel' Jones's five dollars to-day you nuvercorndescended ter meck no secon' trip to de hat on Brer Dolittle's'count. 

"I did think I'd turn a searchin' glance on yer fur a minute an'shame yer up heah, but you looked so happy an' so full o' biggoty Ispared yer, but yer done had time ter cool off now, an' I 'bleegedter bring yer ter de scratch. 

"Now, ef you done teched de five-dollar notch an' can't git down, we'll git somebody ter loan'd yer a greenback bill ter fetch up, an'whils' de congergation is meditatin' on dey sins I'll gi'e you backfo' dollars an' ninety-five cents. "

Amid screams of laughter poor little Dolittle, a comical, wizen-facedold man, nervously secured a nickel from the corner of his handkerchief, and, grinning broadly, walked up with it. 

"De ve'y leastest a man _kin_ do, " Jordan continued, as leaning forwardhe presented the hat--"de ve'y _leastest_ he kin do is ter _live up ter'is name_, an' ef my name was _Dolittle_ I sho' would try ter _live upter dat, ef I didn't pass beyond it_!"

And as he restored the hat to the table beside him, he added, with aquizzical lift of his brow:

"I does try ter live up ter _my_ name even, an' yer know, myfeller-sinners, hit does look like a hard case fur a man o' my colorter live up ter de name o' White. "

He waited again for laughter to subside. 

"At leas', " he resumed, seriously, "hit did look like a hard case _atfust_, but by de grace o' Gord I done 'skivered de way ter do it!

"Ef we all had ter live up ter our skins, hit'd be purty hard on a heapof us; but, bless de Lord! he don't look at de skins; he looks at de_heart_!

"I tries ter keep my _heart_ white, an' my _soul_ white, an' my_sperit_ white! Dat's how I tries ter live up ter _my_ name wid a_white cornscience, bless de Lord_! An' I looks fur my people ter he'pme all dey kin. "

And now, amid a hearty chorus of "Amens!" and "Glorys!" he raised hishands for a benediction, which in its all-embracing scope did not failto invoke Divine favor upon "our good 'Piscopalpalian brother, Riviren'Chesterfiel' Jones--Gord bless him. "

LADY

A MONOLOGUE OF THE COW-PEN

Umh! Fur Gord sake, des look at dem cows! All squez up together 'g'ins'dem bars in dat sof' mud--des like I knowed dey gwine be--an' me late atmy milkin'! You Lady! Teck yo' proud neck down f'om off dat heifer'shead! Back, I tell yer! Don't tell me, Spot! Yas, I know she impose onyou--yas she do. Reachin' her monst'ous mouf clair over yo' po' littlemuley head. Move back, I say, Lady! Ef you so biggoty, why don't youfool wid some o' dem horn cows? You is a lady, eve'y inch of yer! Youknows who to fool wid. You is de uppishes' cow I ever see in all mylife--puttin' on so much style--an' yo' milk so po' an' blue, I couldpurty nigh blue my starch clo'es wid it. Look out dar, Peggy, how yousqueeze 'g'ins' Lady! She ain' gwine teck none o' yo' foolishness. Peggyain't got a speck o' manners! Lady b'longs ter de cream o' s'ciety, Ihave yer know, --an' bless Gord, I b'lieve dat's all de cream dey isabout her. Hyah! fur Gord's sake lis'n at me, passin' a joke on Lady!

I does love to pleg dem cows--dey teck it so good-natured. Heap o' us'omans mought teck lessons in Christianity f'om a cow--de way she stan'so still an' des look mild-eyed an' chaw 'er cud when anybody sass 'er. Dey'd be a heap less fam'ly quar'lin on dis plantation ef de 'omans hadcuds ter chaw--dat is ef dey'd be satisfied ter chaw dey own. But ef deywas ter have 'em 'twouldn't be no time befo' dey'd be cud fights eve'yday in de week, eve'y one thinkin' de nex' one had a sweeter moufful 'nwhat she had. Reckon we got 'nough ter go to law 'bout, widoutcuds--ain't we Lady? Don't start pawin' de groun' now, des caze yer heahme speculatin' at yo' feed-trough. I kin talk an' work too. I ain't likeyou--nuver do n'air one. 

I ain't gwine pay no 'tention ter none o' y' all no mo' now tell I gityo' supper ready. Po' little Brindle! Stan' so still, an' ain't say aword. I'm a-fixin' yo' feed now, honey--yas, I is! I allus mixes yo'sfust, caze I know you nuver gits in till de las' one an' some o' de resto' de greedies mos' gin'ally eats it up fo' you gits it. 

She's a Scriptu'al cow, Brindle is--she so meek. 

Yas, I sho' does love Brindle. Any cow dat kin walk in so 'umble, afterall de res' git done, an' pick up a little scrap o' leavin's out'nde trough de way she do--an' turn it eve'y bit into good yallerbutter--_dat what I calls a cow!_ Co'se I know Lady'll git in hereahead o' yer, honey, an' eat all dis mash I'm a-mixin' so good fur you. It do do me good to see 'er do it, too. I sho' does love Lady--de way'er manners sets on 'er. She don't count much at de churn--an' sheain't got no conscience--an' no cha'acter--_but she's a lady!_ Dat'shuccome I puts up wid 'er. Yas, I'm a-talkin' 'bout you, Lady, an' I'ma-lookin' at yer, too, rahin' yo' head up so circumstantial. But youmeets my eye like a lady! You ain't shame-faced, is yer! You too wellriz--you is. _You_ know dat _I_ know dat yo' po' measly sky-coloredmilk sours up into mighty fine clabber ter feed yo'ng tukkeys wid--youan' me, we knows dat, don't we?

Hyah! Dar, now, we done turned de joke on all you yaller-creamers--ain'twe, Lady?

Lordy! I wonder fo' gracious ef Lady nod her head to me accidental!

Is you 'spondin' ter me, Lady? Tell de trufe, I spec's Lady ter twis' up'er tongue an' talk some day--she work 'er mouf so knowin'!

Dis heah cotton-seed ought ter be tooken out'n her trough, by rights. EfI could feed her on bran an' good warm slops a while, de churn wouldpurty soon 'spute her rights wid de tukkeys!

A high-toned cow, proud as Lady is, ought ter reach white-folk's tablesomehow-ma-ruther. But you gits dar all the same, don't yer Lady? Yougits dar in tukkey-meat _ef dey don't reco'nize yer_!

Well! I'm done mixin' now an' I turns my back on de trough--an' advanceter de bars. Lordy, how purty dem cows does look--wid dat low sun'g'ins' dey backs! So patient an' yit so onpatient. 

Back, now, till I teck out dese rails!

Soh, now! Easy, Spot! Easy, Lady! I does love ter let down dese bars widde sun in my eyes. I loves it mos' as good as I loves ter milk. 

Down she goes!

Step up quick, now, Brindle, an' git yo' place. 

Lord have mussy! Des look how Brindle meck way fur Lady! I know'd Lady'dgit dar fust! I know'd it!

An' dat's huccome I mixed dat feed so purtic'lar. 

I does love Lady!

A PULPIT ORATOR

Old Reub' Tyler, pastor of Mount Zion Chapel, Sugar Hollow Plantation, was a pulpit orator of no mean parts. Though his education, acquiredduring his fifty-ninth, sixtieth, and sixty-first summers, had notcarried him beyond the First Reader class in the local district school, it had given him a pretty thorough knowledge of the sounds of simpleletter combinations. This, supplemented by a quick intuition and acorrect musical ear, had aided him to really remarkable powers ofinterpretation, and there was now, ten years later, no chapter in theentire Bible which he hesitated to read aloud, such as contained longstrings of impossible names hung upon a chain of "begats" being hisfavorite achievements. 

A common tribute paid Reub's pulpit eloquence by reverential listenersamong his flock was, "Brer Tyler is got a black face, but his speechsho' is white. " The truth was that in his humble way Reub' was somethingof a philologist. A new word was to him a treasure, so much stock intrade, and the longer and more formidable the acquisition, the dearerits possession. 

Reub's unusual vocabulary was largely the result of his intimaterelations with his master, Judge Marshall, whose body-servant he hadbeen for a number of years. The judge had long been dead now, and theplantation had descended to his son, the present incumbent. 

Reub' was entirely devoted to the family of his former owners, andalmost any summer evening now he might be seen sitting on the lowest ofthe five steps which led to the broad front veranda of the great housewhere Mr. John Marshall sat smoking his meerschaum. If Marshall feltamiably disposed he would often hand the old man a light, or even hisown tobacco-bag, from which Reub' would fill his corn-cob pipe, and thetwo would sit and smoke by the hour, talking of the crops, the weather, politics, religion, anything--as the old man led the way; for theseevening communings were his affairs rather than his "Marse John's. " On arecent occasion, while they sat talking in this way, Marshall wascongratulating him upon his unprecedented success in conducting acertain revival then in progress, when the old man said:

"Yassir, de Lord sho' is gimme a rich harves'. But you know some'h'n', Marse John? All de power o' language th'ough an' by which I am enableter seize on de sperit is come to me th'ough ole marster. I done tookenmy pattern f'om him f'om de beginnin, ' an' des de way I done heerd himargify de cases in de co't-house, dat's de way I lay out ter state mycase befo' de Lord. 

"I nuver is preached wid power yit on'y but 'cep' when I sees de sinnerstandin' 'fo' de bar o' de Lord, an' de witnesses on de stan', an' despeckletators pressin' for'ard to heah, an' de jury listenin', an_me--I'm de prosecutin' 'torney_!

"An' when I gits dat whole co't-room 'ranged 'fo' my eyes in my min', an' de pris'ner standin' in de box, I des reg'lar _lay 'im out_! Yousee, I knows all de law words ter do it _wid_! I des open fire on 'im, an' prove 'im a crim'nal, a law-breaker, a vagabone, a murderer in ev'ydegree dey is--fus', secon', _an_' third--a reperbate, an' a blot on deface o' de yearth, tell dey ain't a chance lef' fur 'im but ter fall on'is knees an' plead guilty!

"An' when I got 'im down, _I got 'im whar I want 'im_, an' de work'shalf did. Den I shif's roun' an' ac' _pris'ner's 'torney_, an' preachgrace tell I gits 'im shoutin'--des de same as ole marster use terdo--clair a man whe'r or no, guilty or no guilty, step by step, nuverstop tell he'd have de last juryman blowin' 'is nose an' snifflin'--an'he'd do it wid swellin' dic'sh'nary words, too!

"Dat's de way I works it--fus' argify fur de State, den plead fur depris'ner. 

"I tell yer, Marse John, " he resumed, after a thoughtful pause, "dey'sone word o' ole marster's--I don'no' huccome it slipped my min', but hitwas a long glorified word, an' I often wishes hit'd come back ter me. EfI could ricollec' dat word, hit'd holp me powerful in my preachin'. 

"Wonder ef you wouldn't call out a few dic'sh'nary words fur me, please, sir? Maybe you mought strike it. "

Without a moment's reflection, Marshall, seizing at random upon thefirst word that presented itself, said, "How about _ratiocination_?"

The old man started as if he were shot. "Dat's hit!" he exclaimed. "Yassir, dat's hit! How in de kingdom come is you struck it de fust pop?Rasheoshinatiom! I 'clare! Dat's de ve'y word, sho's you born! Dat'swhat I calls a high-tone word; ain't it, now, Marse John?"

"Yes, Uncle Reub'; ratiocination is a good word in its place. " Marshallwas much amused. "I suppose you know what it means?"

"Nemmine 'bout dat, " Reub' protested, grinning all over--"nemmine'bout dat. I des gwine fetch it in when I needs a thunder-bolt!Rasheoshinatiom! Dat's a bomb-shell fur de prosecutiom! But I can't gitit off now; I'm too cool. Wait tell I'm standin' in de pulpit ontip-toes, wid de sweat a-po'in' down de spine o' my back, an' fin'myse'f _des one argimint short_! Den look out fur de locomotive!

"Won't yer, " he added, after a pause--"won't yer, please, sir, spell datword out fur me slow tell I writes it down 'fo' I forgits it?"

 [Illustration: "'WON'T YER, PLEASE, SIR, SPELL DAT WORD OUT FUR ME SLOW?'"]

Reaching deep into his trousers pocket, he brought forth a folded scrapof tobacco-stained paper and a bit of lead-pencil. 

Notwithstanding his fondness for the old man, there was a twinkle inMarshall's eye as he began to spell for him, letter by letter, thecoveted word of power. 

"R, " he began, glancing over the writer's shoulder. 

"R, " repeated Reub', laboriously writing. 

"A, " continued Marshall. 

"R-a, " repeated Reub'. 

"T, " said the tutor. 

"R-a-t, " drawled the old man, when, suddenly catching the sound of thecombination, he glanced first at the letters and then with quicksuspicion up into Marshall's face. The suppressed smile he detectedthere did its work. He felt himself betrayed. 

Springing tremulously from his seat, the very embodiment of abusedconfidence and wrath, he exclaimed:

"Well! Hit's come ter dis, is it? One o' ole marster's chillen settin'up makin' spote o' me ter my face! I didn't spect it of yer, MarseJohn--I did not. It's bad enough when some o' deze heah low-downpo'-white-trash town-boys hollers 'rats' at me--let alone my own whitechillen what I done toted in my arms! Lemme go home an' try ter forgitdis insult ole marster's chile insulted me wid!"

It was a moment before Marshall saw where the offence lay, and then, overcome with the ludicrousness of the situation, he roared withlaughter in spite of himself. 

This removed him beyond the pale of forgiveness, and as Reub' hobbledoff, talking to himself, Marshall felt that present protest was useless. It was perhaps an hour later when, having deposited a bag of his besttobacco in his coat pocket, and tucked a dictionary under his arm, Marshall made his way to the old man's cabin, where, after manyaffectionate protestations and much insistence, he finally induced himto put on his glasses and spell the word from the printed page. 

He was not easily convinced. However, under the force of Marshall'skindly assurances and the testimony of his own eyes, he finally melted, and as he set back the candle and removed his glasses, he remarked, in atone of the utmost humility, "Well--dat's what comes o' nigger educatiom! Des let a nigger git furenough along ter spell out c-a-t, cat, an' r-a-t, rat, an' a few Fus'Reader varmints, an' he's ready ter conterdic' de whole dic'sh'nary. 

"Des gimme dat word a few times _in my ear_ good, please, sir. Iwouldn't dare ter teck it in thoo my eye, 'caze don' keer what you say, when a word sets out wid r-a-t, I gwine see a open-eyed rat settin'right at de head of it blinkin' at me ev'y time I looks at it. "

AN EASTER SYMBOL

A MONOLOGUE OF THE PLANTATION

_Speaker_: A Black Girl. _Time_: Easter Morning. 

"'Scuse me knockin' at yo' do' so early, Miss Bettie, but I'se introuble. Don't set up in bed. Jes' lay still an' lemme talk to yer. 

"I come to ax yer to please ma'am loand me a pair o' wings, mistus. No'm, I ain't crazy. I mean what I say. 

"You see, to-day's Easter Sunday, Miss Bettie, an' we havin' a high timein our chu'ch. An' I'se gwine sing de special Easter carol, wid FreckledFrances an' Lame Jane jinin' in de chorus in our choir. Hit's one o'deze heah visible choirs sot up nex' to de pulpit in front o' decongergation. 

"Of co'se, me singin' de high solo makes me de principlest figgur, so we'ranged fur me to stan' in de middle, wid Frances an' Jake on my rightan' lef' sides, an' I got a bran new white tarlton frock wid spangles onit, an' a Easter lily wreath all ready. Of co'se, me bein' de fustsinger, dat entitles me to wear de highest plumage, an' Frances, sheknows dat, an' she 'lowed to me she was gwine wear dat white nainsooklawn you gi'n 'er, an' des a plain secondary hat, an' at de p'inted timewe all three got to rise an' courtesy to de congergation, an' den bu'stinto song. Lame Jake gwine wear dat white duck suit o' Marse John's an'a Easter lily in his button-hole. 

"Well, hit was all fixed dat-a-way, peaceable an' proper, but you knowde trouble is Freckled Frances is jealous-hearted, an' she ain't got noprinciple. I tell you, Miss Bettie, when niggers gits white enough tofreckle, you look out for 'em! Dey jes advanced fur enough along to showwhite ambition an' nigger principle! An' dat's a dange'ous mixture!

"An' Frances--? She ain't got no mo' principle 'n a suck-aig dorg! Eversence we 'ranged dat Easter programme, she been studyin' up someowdacious way to outdo me to-day in de face of eve'ybody. 

"But I'm jes one too many fur any yaller freckled-faced nigger. I'mblack--but dey's a heap o' trouble come out o' ink bottles befo' to-day!

"I done had my eye on Frances! An' fur de las' endurin' week I takennotice ev'ry time we had a choir practisin', Frances, she'd fetch insome talk about butterflies bein' a Easter sign o' de resurrection o' dedead, an' all sech as dat. Well, I know Frances don't keer no mo' 'boutde resurrection o' de dead 'n nothin'. Frances is too tuck up wid dislife fur dat! So I watched her. An' las' night I ketched up wid 'er. 

"You know dat grea' big silk paper butterfly dat you had on yo'_pi_anner lamp, Miss Bettie? She's got it pyerched up on a wire ontop o' dat secondary hat, an' she's a-fixin' it to wear it to churchto-day. But she don't know I know it. You see, she knows I kin sing allover her, an' dat's huccome she's a-projectin' to ketch de eyes o' decongergation!

"But ef you'll he'p me out, Miss Bettie, we'll fix 'er. You know demyaller gauzy wings you wo'e in de tableaux? Ef you'll loand 'em to mean' help me on wid 'em terreckly when I'm dressed, I'll _be_ a _wholelive butterfly_, an' I bet yer when I flutters into dat choir, FreckledFrances'll feel like snatchin' dat lamp shade off her hat, sho's youborn! An' fur once-t I'm proud I'm so black complected, caze black an'yaller, dey goes together fur butterflies!

"Frances 'lowed to kill me out to-day, but I lay when she sets eyes onde yaller-winged butterfly she'll 'preciate de resurrection o' de deadef she never done it befo' in her life. "

CHRISTMAS AT THE TRIMBLES'

 * * * *

Part I

_Time_: Daylight, the day before Christmas. _Place_: Rowton's store, Simpkinsville. 

_First Monologue, by Mr. Trimble_:

"Whoa-a-a, there, ck, ck, ck! Back, now, Jinny! Hello, Rowton! Here wecome, Jinny an' me--six miles in the slush up to the hub, an' Jinny witha unweaned colt at home. Whoa-a-a, there!

"It's good Christmas don't come but once-t a year--ain't it, Jinny?

"Well, Rowton, you're what I call a pro-gressive business man, that'swhat you are. Blest ef he ain't hired a whole row o' little niggers tostand out in front of 'is sto'e an' hold horses--while he takes hiscustomers inside to fleece 'em. 

"Come here, Pop-Eyes, you third feller, an' ketch aholt o' Jinny'sbridle. I always did like pop-eyed niggers. They look so God-forsakenan' ugly. A feller thet's afflicted with yo' style o' beauty ought tohave favors showed him, an' that's why I intend for you to make thefirst extry to-day. The boy thet holds my horse of a Christmus Evealways earns a dollar. Don't try to open yo' eyes no wider--I mean whatI say. How did Rowton manage to git you fellers up so early, I wonder. Give out thet he'd hire the first ten that come, did he? An' gives eachfeller his dinner an' a hat. 

"I was half afeered you wouldn't be open yet, Rowton--but I wasdetermined to git ahead o' the Christmus crowd, an' I started bystarlight. I ca'culate to meet 'em all a-goin' back. 

"Well, I vow, ef yo' sto'e don't look purty. Wish _she_ could see it. She'd have some idee of New York. But, of co'se, I couldn't fetch herto-day, an' me a-comin' specially to pick out her Christmus gif'. She'sjest like a child. Ef she s'picions befo' hand what she's a-goin' togit, why, she don't want it. 

"I notice when I set on these soap-boxes, my pockets is jest about evenwith yo' cash-drawer, Rowton. Well, that's what we're here for. Fetchout all yo' purties, now, an' lay 'em along on the counter. You know_her_, an' she ain't to be fooled in quality. Reckon I _will_ walkaround a little an' see what you've got. I 'ain't got a idee on earthwhat to buy, from a broach to a barouche. Let's look over some o' yo'silver things, Rowton. Josh Porter showed me a butter-dish you sold himwith a silver cow on the led of it, an' I was a-wonderin' ef, maybe, you didn't have another. 

"That's it. That's a mighty fine idee, a statue like that is. It sort o'designates a thing. D'rec'ly a person saw the cow, now, he'd s'picionthe butter inside the dish. Of co'se, he'd know they wouldn't hardly behay in it--no, ez you say, 'nor a calf. ' No doubt wife'll be a-wantin'one o' these cow-topped ones quick ez she sees Josh's wife's. She'll seethe p'int in a minute--of the cow, I mean. But, of co'se, I wouldn'tthink o' gittin' her the same thing Josh's got for Helen, noways. We'retoo near neighbors for that. Th' ain't no fun in borryin' duplicatesover a stile when company drops in sudden, without a minute's warnin'. 

"No, you needn't call my attention to that tiltin' ice-pitcher. I seenit soon ez I approached the case. Didn't you take notice to me a-liftin'my hat? That was what I was a-bowin' to, that pitcher was. No, that'sthe thing wife hankers after, an' I know it, an' it's the one thing I'llnever buy her. Not thet I'd begrudge it to her--but to tell the truthit'd pleg me to have to live with the thing. I wouldn't mind it onSundays or when they was company in the house, but I like to take off mycoat, hot days, an' set around in my shirt-sleeves, an' I doubt ef I'dhave the cheek to do it in the face of sech a thing as that. 

"Fact is, when I come into a room where one of 'em is, I sort o' lookfor it to tilt over of its own accord an' bow to me an' ask me to 'beseated. '

"You needn't to laugh. Of co'se, they's a reason for it--but it's so. I'm jest that big of a ninny. Ricollec' Jedge Robinson, he used to haveone of 'em--jest about the size o' this one--two goblets an' abowl--an' when I'd go up to the house on a errand for pa, time pa wasdistric' coroner, the jedge's mother-in-law, ol' Mis' Meredy, she'd besettin' in the back room a-sewin, ' an' when the black gal would let mein the front door she'd sort o' whisper: 'Invite him to walk into theparlor and be seated. ' I'd overhear her say it, an' I'd turn into theparlor, an' first thing I'd see'd be that ice-pitcher. I don't thinkanybody can _set down_ good, noways, when they're ast to 'be seated, 'an' when, in addition to that, I'd meet the swingin' ice-pitcher halfway to the patent rocker, I didn't have no mo' consciousness where Iwas a-settin' than nothin'. An' like ez not the rocker'd squawk firststrain I put on it. She wasn't no mo'n a sort o' swingin' ice-pitcherherself, ol' Mis' Meredy wasn't--walkin' round the house weekdaysdressed in black silk, with a lace cap on her head, an' half insultin'his company thet he'd knowed all his life. I did threaten once-t totell her, 'No, thank you, ma'am, I don't keer to be seated--but I'll_set down_ ef it's agreeable, ' but when the time would come I'd turnround an' there'd be the ice-pitcher. An' after that I couldn't beexpected to do nothin' but back into the parlor over the Brusselscarpet an' chaw my hat-brim. But, of co'se, I was young then. 

"Reckon you've heerd the tale they tell on Aleck Turnbull the day hewent there in the old lady's time. She had him ast into the cushionedsanctuary--an' Aleck hadn't seen much them days--an' what did he do butgawk around an' plump hisself down into that gilt-backed rocker with atune-playin' seat in it, an', of co'se, quick ez his weight struck it, it started up a jig tune, an' they say Aleck shot out o' that door likeez ef he'd been fired out of a cannon. An' he never did go back to saywhat he come after. I doubt ef he ever knew. 

"How much did you say for the ice-pitcher, Rowton? Thirty dollars--an'you'll let me have it for--hush, now, don't say that. I don't see howyou could stand so close to it an' offer to split dollars. Of co'seI ain't a-buyin' it, but ef I was I wouldn't want no reduction on it, I'd feel like ez ef it would always know it an' have a sort of contemp'for me. They's suitableness in all things. Besides, I never want noreduction on anything I buy for _her_, someways. You can charge mereg'lar prices an' make it up on the Christmas gif' she buys forme--that is, ef she buys it from you. Of co'se it'll be charged. That's a mighty purty coral broach, that grape-bunch one, but she'sso pink-complected, I don't know ez she'd become it. I like thisfish-scale set, myself, but she might be prejerdyced ag'in' the ideeof it. You say she admired that hand-merror, an' this pair o'side-combs--an' she 'lowed she'd git 'em fur my Christmus gif' ef shedared? But, of co'se, she was jokin' about that. Poor little thing, sheain't never got over the way folks run her about that side-saddle shegive me last Christmus, though I never did see anything out o' the wayin it. She knew thet the greatest pleasure o' my life was in makin' herhappy, and she was jest simple-hearted enough to do it--that's all--an'I can truly say thet I ain't never had mo' pleasure out of a Christmusgif' in my life than I've had out o' that side-saddle. She's been soconsistent about it--never used it in her life without a-borryin' it ofme, an' she does it so cunnin'. Of co'se I don't never loand it to herwithout a kiss. They ain't a cunnin'er play-actor on earth 'n she is, though she ain't never been to a theatre--an' wouldn't go, bein' toowell raised. 

"You say this pitcher wasn't there when she was here--no, for ef it had'a' been, I know she'd 'a' took on over it. Th' ain't never been onefor sale in Simpkinsville before. They've been several of 'em broughthere by families besides the one old Mis' Meredy presided over--thoughthat was one o' the first. But wife is forever a-pickin' out purtypatterns of 'em in the catalogues. Ef that one hadn't 'a' give me sucha setback in my early youth I'd git her this, jest to please her. Ef Iwas to buy this one, it an' the plush album would set each other offlovely. She's a-buyin' _it_ on instalments from the same man thetenlarged her photograph to a' ile-painted po'trait, an' it's a dandy!She's got me a-settin' up on the front page, took with my first wife, which it looks to me thet if she'd do that much to please me, why, Imight buy almost anything to please her, don't it? Of co'se I don'ttake no partic'lar pleasure in that photograph--but she seems to thinkI might, an' no doubt she's put it there to show thet she ain'tsmall-minded. You ricollec' Mary Jane was plain-featured, but Kittydon't seem to mind that ez much ez I do, now thet she's gone an' hergood deeds ain't in sight. I never did see no use in throwin' aplain-featured woman's looks up to her _post mortem_. 

"This is a mighty purty pitcher, in my judgment, but to tell the truthI've made so much fun o' the few swingin' pitchers thet's been in thistown that I'd be ashamed to buy it, even ef I could git over my ownobnoxion to it. But of co'se, ez you say, everybody'd know thet I doneit jest to please her--an' I don't know thet they's a more worthy objectin a married man's life than that. 

"I s'pose I'll haf to git it for her. An' I want a bold, outspokededication on it, Rowton. I ain't a-goin' about it shamefaced. Here, gimme that pencil. Now, I want this inscription on it, word for word. I've got to stop over at Paul's to git him to regulate my watch, an'I'll tell him to hurry an' mark it for me, soon ez you send it over. 

"Well, so long. Happy Christmus to you an' yo' folks. 

"Say, Rowton, wrap up that little merror an' them side-combs an' send'em along, too, please. So long!"

Part II

_Time_: Same morning. _Plate_: Store in Washington. 

_Second Monologue, by Mrs. Trimble_:

"Why, howdy, Mis' Blakes--howdy, Mis' Phemie--howdy, all. Good-mornin', Mr. Lawson. I see yo' sto'e is fillin' up early. Great minds run in thesame channel, partic'larly on Christmus Eve. 

"My old man started off this mornin' befo' day, an' soon ez he got outo' sight down the Simpkinsville road, I struck out for Washin'ton, an'here I am. He thinks I'm home seedin' raisins. He was out by starlightthis mornin' with the big wagon, an', of co'se, I know what that means. He's gone for my Christmus gif', an' I'm put to it to know whattremenjus thing he's a-layin' out to fetch me--thet takes a cotton-wagonto haul it. Of co'se I imagine everything, from a guyaskutus down. Ialways did like to git things too big to go in my stockin'. What yousay, Mis' Blakes? Do I hang up my stockin'? Well, I reckon. I hadn'tquit when I got married, an' I think that's a poor time to stop, don'tyou? Partic'larly when you marry a man twice-t yo' age, an' can'tconvince him thet you're grown, noways. Yas, indeedy, that stockin' goesup to-night--not mine, neither, but one I borry from Aunt Jane Peters. Idon't wonder y' all laugh. Aunt Jane's foot is a yard long ef it's a'inch, but I'll find it stuffed to-morrer mornin', even ef the guyaskutushas to be chained to the mantel. An' it'll take me a good hour to emptyit, for he always puts a lot o' devilment in it, an' I give him abeatin' over the head every nonsensical thing I find in it. We have aheap o' fun over it, though. 

"He don't seem to know I'm grown, an' I know I don't know he's old. 

"Listen to me runnin' on, an' you all nearly done yo' shoppin'. Which doyou think would be the nicest to give him, Mr. Lawson--this silvercard-basket, or that Cupid vase, or--?

"Y' all needn't to wink. I seen you, Mis' Blakes. Ef I was to pick out ahalf dozen socks for him like them you're a-buyin' for Mr. Blakes, howmuch fun do you suppose we'd have out of it? Not much. I'd jest ez lief'twasn't Christmus--an' so would he--though they do say his first wifegive him a bolt o' domestic once-t for Christmus, an' made it up intonight-shirts an' things for him du'in' the year. Think of it. No, I'ma-goin' to git him somethin' thet's got some git-up to it, an'--an'it'll be either--that--Cupid vase--or--lordy, Mr. Lawson, don't fetchout that swingin' ice-pitcher. I glimpsed it quick ez I come in thedoor, an', says I, 'Get thee behind me, Satan, ' an' turned my back on itimmejiate. 

"But of co'se I ca'culated to git you to fetch it out jest for me tolook at, after I'd selected his present. Ain't it a beauty? Seems to methey couldn't be a more suitable present for a man--ef he didn't hate'em so. No, Mis' Blakes, it ain't only thet he don't never drinkice-water. I wouldn't mind a little thing like that. 

"You ricollec' ol' Mis' Meredy, she used to preside over one thet theyhad, an' somehow he taken a distaste to her an' to ice-pitchers alongwith her, an' he don't never lose a chance to express his disgust. Whenthem new folks was in town last year projec'in' about the railroad, hesays to me, 'I hope they won't stay, they'd never suit Simpkinsville onearth. They're the regular swingin' ice-pitcher sort. Git folks likethat in town an' it wouldn't be no time befo' they'd start a-chargin'pew rent in our churches. ' We was both glad when they give out thet theywasn't a-goin' to build the road. They say railroads is mightycorrupting an' me, with my sick headaches, an' a' ingine whistle intown, no indeed! Besides, ef it was to come I know I'd be the first onerun over. It's bad enough to have bulls in our fields without turnin'steam-ingines loose on us. Jest one look at them cow-ketchers is enoughto frustrate a person till he'd stand stock still an' wait to be runover--jest like poor crazy Mary done down here to Cedar Springs. 

"They say crazy Mary looked that headlight full in the face, jes' thesame ez a bird looks at a snake, till the thing caught her, an' when thelong freight train had passed over her she didn't have a single remain, not a one, though I always thought they might've gethered up enough togive her a funeral. When I die I intend to have a funeral, even if I'mdrownded at sea. They can stand on the sho'e, an' I'll be jest ez likelyto know it ez them thet lay in view lookin' so ca'm. I've done give himmy orders, though they ain't much danger o' me dyin' at sea, not ef westay in Simpkinsville. 

"How much are them willer rockers, Mr. Lawson? I declare that one favorsmy old man ez it sets there, even without him in it. Nine dollars?That's a good deal for a pants'-tearin' chair, seems to me, which themwillers are, the last one of 'em, an' I'm a mighty poor hand to darn. Jest let me lay my stitches in colors, in the shape of a flower, an' Ican darn ez well ez the next one, but I do despise to fill up holes jestto be a-fillin'. Yes, ez you say, them silver-mounted brier-wood pipesis mighty purty, but he smokes so much ez it is, I don't know ez I wantto encourage him. Besides, it seems a waste o' money to buy a Christmusgif' thet a person has to lay aside when company comes in, an' asilver-mounted pipe ain't no politer to smoke in the presence o' ladiesthan a corncob is. An' ez for when we're by ourselves--shucks. 

"Ef you don't mind, Mr. Lawson, I'll stroll around through the sto'ean' see what you've got while you wait on some o' them thet know theirown minds. I know mine well enough. _What I want_ is _that swingin'ice-pitcher_, an' my judgment tells me thet they ain't a more suitablepresent in yo' sto'e for a settled man thet has built hisself aresidence an' furnished it complete the way _he_ has, but of co'se'twouldn't never do. I always think how I'd enjoy it when the ministercalled. I wonder what Mr. Lawson thinks o' me back here a-talkin' tomyself. I always like to talk about the things I'm buyin'. That's amighty fine saddle-blanket, indeed it is. He was talkin' about a newsaddle-blanket the other day. But that's a thing a person could pick upalmost any day, a saddle-blanket is. A' ice-pitcher now--

"Say, Mr. Lawson, lemme look at that tiltin'-pitcher again, please, sir. I jest want to see ef the spout is gold-lined. Yes, so it is--an'little holes down in the throat of it, too. It cert'n'y is well made, it cert'n'y is. I s'pose them holes is to strain out grasshoppers oranything thet might fall into it. That musician thet choked to death atthe barbecue down at Pump Springs last summer might 'a' been livin' yetef they'd had sech ez this to pass water in, instid o' that open pail. _He's_ got a mighty keerless way o' drinkin' out o' open dippers, too. No tellin' what he'll scoop up some day. They'd be great safety for himin a pitcher like this--ef I could only make him see it. It would seema sort o' awkward thing to pack out to the well every single time, an'he won't drink no water but what he draws fresh. An' I s'pose it wouldlook sort o' silly to put it in here jest to drink it out again. 

"Sir? Oh yes, I saw them saddle-bags hang-in' up back there, an' theyare fine, mighty fine, ez you say, an' his are purty near wo'e out, butlordy, I don't want to buy a Christmus gif' thet's hung up in theharness-room half the time. What's that you say? Won't you all nevergit done a-runnin' me about that side-saddle? You can't pleg me aboutthat. I got it for his pleasure, ef it was for my use, an', come tothink about it, I'd be jest reversin' the thing on the pitcher. Itwould be for his use an' my pleasure. I wish I could see my way to buyit for him. Both goblets go with it, you say--an' the slop bowl? Itcert'n'y is handsome--it cert'n'y is. An' it's expensive--nobody couldaccuse me o' stintin' 'im. Wonder why they didn't put some polar bearson the goblets, too. They'd 'a' had to be purty small bears, but theycould 'a' been cubs, easy. 

"I don't reely believe, Mr. Lawson, indeed I don't, thet I could find amo' suitable present for him ef I took a month, an' I don't keer whathe's a-pickin' out for me this minute, it can't be no handsomer 'nthis. Th' ain't no use--I'll haf to have it--for 'im. Jest charge it, please, an' now I want it marked. I'll pay cash for the markin', out ofmy egg money. An' I want his full name. Have it stamped on the icebergright beside the bear. 'Ephraim N. Trimble. ' No, you needn't to spellout the middle name. I should say not. Ef you knew what it was youwouldn't ask me. Why, it's Nebuchadnezzar. It'd use up the wholeiceberg. Besides, I couldn't never think o' Nebuchadnezzar there an'not a spear o' grass on the whole lan'scape. You needn't to laugh. Iknow it's silly, but I always think o' sech ez that. No, jest write it, 'Ephraim N. Trimble, from his wife, Kitty. ' Be sure to put in theKitty, so in after years it'll show which wife give it to him. Ofco'se, them thet knew us both would know which one. Mis' Mary Janewouldn't never have approved of it in the world. Why, she used to ripup her old crocheted tidies an' things an' use 'em over in bastin'thread, so they tell me. She little dremp' who she was a-savin' for, poor thing. She was buyin' this pitcher then, but she didn't know it. But I keep a-runnin' on. Go on with the inscription, Mr. Lawson. Whathave you got? 'From his wife, Kitty'--what's the matter with'affectionate wife'? You say affectionate is a purty expensive word?But 'lovin'' 'll do jest ez well, an' it comes cheaper, you say? An'plain 'wife' comes cheapest of all? An' I don't know but what it's mo'suitable, anyhow--at his age. Of co'se, you must put in the date, an'make the 'Kitty' nice an' fancy, please. Lordy, well, the deed'sdone--an' I reckon he'll threaten to divo'ce me when he sees it--tillhe reads the inscription. Better put in the 'lovin', ' I reckon, an' putit in capitals--they don't cost no more, do they? Well, goodbye, Mr. Lawson, I reckon you'll be glad to see me go. I've outstayed every lastone thet was here when I come. Well, good-bye! Have it markedimmediate, please, an' I'll call back in an hour. Good-bye, again!"

Part III

When old man Trimble stood before the fireplace at midnight that night, stuffing little parcels into the deep, borrowed stocking, he chucklednoiselessly, and glanced with affection towards the corner of the roomwhere his young wife lay sleeping. He was a fat old man, and as he stoodwith shaking sides in his loose, home-made pajamas, he would have donecredit to a more conscious impersonation of old Santa himself. 

His task finally done, he glanced down at a tall bundle that stood onthe floor almost immediately in front of him, moved back with his handsresting on his hips, and thoughtfully surveyed it. 

"Well, ef anybody had 'a' told it on me I never would 'a' believed it, "he said, under his breath. "The idee o' me, Ephe Trimble, settin' upsech a thing ez that in his house--at my time o' life. " Then, glancingtowards the sleeper, he added, with a chuckle, "an' ef they'd 'a'prophesied it I wouldn't 'a' believed sech ez _thet_, neither--atmy time o' life--bless her little curly head. "

He sat down on the floor beside the bundle, clipped the twine, andcautiously pushed back the wrappings. Then, rising, he carefully seteach piece of the water-set up above the stocking on the mantel. He didnot stop to examine it. He was anxious to get it in place without noise. 

It made a fine show, even in the dim, unsteady light of the single taperthat burned in its tumbler of oil close beside the bed. Indeed, when itarose in all its splendor, he was very much impressed. 

"A thing like that ought to have a chandelier to set it off right, " hethought--"yas, and she'll have one, too--she'll have anything shewants--thet I can give her. "

Sleep came slowly to the old man that night, and even long after hiseyes were closed, the silver things seemed arrayed in line upon hismental retina. And when, after a long while, he fell into a troubledslumber, it was only to dream. And in his dream old Judge Robinson'smother-in-law seemed to come and stand before him--black dress, sidecurls, and all--and when he looked at her for the first time in his lifeunabashed--she began to bow, over and over again, and to say with eachsalutation, "Be seated"--"be seated"--"be seated, " getting farther andfarther away with each bow until she was a mere speck in thedistance--and then the speck became a spot of white, and he saw that theold lady had taken on a spout and a handle, and that she was only anice-pitcher, tilting, and tilting, and tilting--while from the yellowspout came a fine metallic voice saying, "Be seated"--"be seated"--againand again. Then there would be a change. Two ladies would appearapproaching each other and retreating--turning into two ice-pitchers, tilting to each other, then passing from tilting pitchers to bowingladies, until sometimes there seemed almost to be a pitcher and a ladyin view at the same time. When he began to look for them both at oncethe dream became tantalizing. Twin ladies and twin pitchers--but neverquite clearly a lady and a pitcher. Even while the vision tormented himit held him fast--perhaps because he was tired, having lost his firsthours of sleep. 

He was still sleeping soundly, spite of the dissolving views of thenovel panorama, when above the two voices that kept inviting him to "beseated, " there arose, in muffled tones at first, and then withdistressing distinctness, a sound of sobbing. It made the old man turnon his pillow even while he slept, for it was the voice of a woman, andhe was tender of heart. It seemed in the dream and yet not of it--thisawful, suppressed sobbing that disturbed his slumber, but was not quitestrong enough to break it. But presently, instead of the muffled sob, there came a cumulative outburst, like that of a too hard-pressedturkey-gobbler forced to the wall. He thought it was the old blackgobbler at first, and he even said, "Shoo, " as he sprang from his bed. But a repetition of the sound sent him bounding through the open doorinto the dining-room, dazed and trembling. 

Seated beside the dining-table there, with her head buried in her arms, sat his little wife. Before her, ranged in line upon the table, stoodthe silver water-set--her present to him. He was beside her in amoment--leaning over her, his arms about her shoulders. 

"Why, honey, " he exclaimed, "what on earth--"

At this she only cried the louder. There was no further need forrestraint. The old man scratched his head. He was very much distressed. 

"Why, honey, " he repeated, "tell its old man all about it. Didn't itlike the purty pitcher thet its old husband bought for it? Was it toobig--or too little--or too heavy for it to tote all the way out herefrom that high mantel? Why didn't it wake up its lazy ol' man and makehim pack it out here for it?"

It was no use. She was crying louder than ever. He did not know what todo. He began to be cold and he saw that she was shivering. There was nofire in the dining-room. He must do something. "Tell its old man what itwould 'a' ruther had, " he whispered in her ear, "jest tell him, ef itdon't like its pitcher--"

At this she made several efforts to speak, her voice breaking in realturkey-gobbler sobs each time, but finally she managed to wail:

"It ain't m-m-m-mi-i-i-ne!"

"Not yours! Why, honey. What can she mean? Did it think I bought it foranybody else? Ain't yours! Well, I like that. Lemme fetch that lamp overhere till you read the writin' on the side of it, an' I'll show youwhose it is. " He brought the lamp. 

"Read that, now. Why, honey! Wh--wh--wh--what in thunder an' lightnin'!They've done gone an' reversed it. The fool's put my name first--'Ephraim N. Trimble. From--his--'

"Why, Jerusalem jinger!

"No wonder she thought I was a low-down dog--to buy sech a thing an'mark it in my own name--no wonder--here on Christmus, too. The idee o'Rowton not seein' to it thet it was done right--"

By this time the little woman had somewhat recovered herself. Still, shestammered fearfully. 

"R-r-r-owton ain't never s-s-s-saw that pitcher. It come fromL-l-l-awson's, d-d-down at Washin'ton, an' I b-bought it for y-y-y-you!"

"Why, honey--darlin'--" A sudden light came into the old man's eyes. Heseized the lamp and hurried to the door of the bed-chamber, and lookedin. This was enough. Perhaps it was mean--but he could not help it--heset the lamp down on the table, dropped into a chair, and fairly howledwith laughter. 

"No wonder I dremp' ol' Mis' Meredy was twins!" he screamed. "Why, h-h-honey, " he was nearly splitting his old sides--"why, honey, I ain'tseen a thing but these two swingin' pitchers all night. They've beendancin' before me--them an' what seemed like a pair o' ol' Mis' Meredys, an' between 'em all I ain't slep' a wink. "

"N-n-either have I. An' I dremp' about ol' Mis' M-m-m-eredy, too. Idremp' she had come to live with us--an' thet y-y-you an' me had movedinto the back o' the house. That's why I got up. I couldn't sleep easy, an' I thought I might ez well git up an' see wh-wh-what you'd broughtme. But I didn't no mor'n glance at it. But you can't say you didn'tsleep, for you was a-s-s-snorin' when I come out here--"

"An' so was you, honey, when I 'ranged them things on the mantel. Lemmego an' git the other set an' compare 'em. That one I picked out ismighty purty. "

"I'll tell you befo' you fetch 'em thet they're exactly alike"--shebegan to cry again--"even to the p-p-polar bear. I saw that at a glance, an' it makes it s-s-so much more ridic'--"

"Hush, honey. I'm reely ashamed of you--I reely am. Seems to me efthey're jest alike, so much the better. What's the matter with havin' apair of 'em? We might use one for buttermilk. "

"Th-that would be perfectly ridiculous. A polar bear'd look like a foolon a buttermilk pitcher. N-n-no, the place for pitchers like them is inhalls, on tables, where anybody comin' in can see 'em an' stop an' git adrink. They couldn't be nothin' tackier'n pourin' buttermilk out of a'ice-pitcher. "

"Of co'se, if you say so, we won't--I jest thought maybe--or, I tell youwhat we might do. I could easy take out a panel o' banisters out of theside po'ch, an' put in a pair o' stairsteps, so ez to make a sort o'side entrance to the house, an' we could set one of 'em in _it_. Itwould make the pitcher come a little high, of co'se, but it would setoff that side o' the house lovely, an' ef you say so--

"Lemme go git 'em all out here together. "

As he trudged in presently loaded up with the duplicate set he said, "Iwonder ef you know what time it is, wife?"

She glanced over her shoulder at the clock on the wall. 

"Don't look at that. It's six o'clock last night by that. I forgot towind her up. No. It's half-past three o'clock--that's all it is. " Bythis time he had placed his water-set beside hers upon the table. "Why, honey, " he exclaimed, "where on earth? I don't see a sign of a'inscription on this--an' what is this paper in the spout? Here, you readit, wife, I ain't got my specs. "

 "'Too busy to mark to-day--send back after Christmas--sorry. 

 ROWTON. '"

"Why, it--an' here's another paper. What can this be, I wonder?"

 "'To my darling wife, from her affectionate husband. '"

The little wife colored as she read it. 

"Oh, that ain't nothin' but the motter he was to print on it. But ain'tit lucky thet he didn't do it? I'll change it--that's what I'll do--foranything you say. There, now. Don't that fix it?"

She was very still for a moment--very thoughtful. "An' affectionate is amighty expensive word, too, " she said, slowly, glancing over theintended inscription, in her husband's handwriting. "Yes. Your pitcherdon't stand for a thing but generosity--an' mine don't mean a thing butselfishness. Yes, take it back, cert'nly, that is ef you'll get meanything I want for it. Will you?"

"Shore. They's a cow-topped butter-dish an' no end o' purty littlethings out there you might like. An' ef it's goin' back, it better bea-goin'. I can ride out to town an' back befo' breakfast. Come, kiss me, wife. "

She threw both arms around her old husband's neck, and kissed him on onecheek and then on the other. Then she kissed his lips. And then, as shewent for pen and paper, she said: "Hurry, now, an' hitch up, an' I'll bewritin' down what I want in exchange--an' you can put it in yo' pocket. "

In a surprisingly short time the old man was on his way--a heaped basketbeside him, a tiny bit of writing in his pocket. When he had turned intothe road he drew rein for a moment, lit a match, and this is what heread:

 "MY DEAR HUSBAND, --I want one silver-mounted brier-wood pipe and a smoking set--a nice lava one--and I want a set of them fine overhauls like them that Mis Pope give Mr. Pope that time I said she was too extravagant, and if they's any money left over I want some nice tobacco, the best. I want all the price of the ice-set took up even to them affectionate words they never put on. 

 "Your affectionate and loving wife, "KITTY. "

When Ephraim put the little note back in his pocket, he took out hishandkerchief and wiped his eyes. 

Her good neighbors and friends, even as far as Simpkinsville andWashington, had their little jokes over Mis' Trimble's giving hersplendor-despising husband a swinging ice-pitcher, but they never knewof the two early trips of the twin pitcher, nor of the midnight comedyin the Trimble home. 

But the old man often recalls it, and as he sits in his front hallsmoking his silver-mounted pipe, and shaking its ashes into the lavabowl that stands beside the ice-pitcher at his elbow, he sometimeschuckles to himself. 

Noticing his shaking shoulders as he sat thus one day his wife turnedfrom the window, where she stood watering her geraniums, and said:

"What on earth are you a-laughin' at, honey?" (She often calls him"honey" now. )

"How did you know I was a-laughin'?" He looked over his shoulder at heras he spoke. 

"Why, I seen yo' shoulders a-shakin'--that's how. " And then she added, with a laugh, "An' now I see yo' reflection in the side o' theice-pitcher, with a zig-zag grin on you a mile long--yo' smile justhappened to strike a iceberg. "

He chuckled again. 

"Is that so? Well, the truth is, I'm just sort o' tickled over things ingeneral, an' I'm a-settin' here gigglin', jest from pure contentment. "

A MINOR CHORD

I am an old bachelor, and I live alone in my corner upper room of anancient house of _Chambres garnies_, down on the lower edge of theFrench quarter of New Orleans. 

When I made my nest here, forty years ago, I felt myself an old man, andthe building was even then a dilapidated old rookery, and since thenwe--the house and I--have lapsed physically with the decline of theneighborhood about us, until now our only claims to gentility areperhaps our memories and our reserves. 

The habit of introspection formed by so isolated an existence tends todevelop morbid views of life, and throws one out of sympatheticrelations with the world of progress, we are told; but is there not somecompensation for this in the acquisition of finer and more subtleperception of things hidden from the social, laughing, hurrying world?So it seems to me, and even though the nicer discernment bring pain, asit often does--as all refinement must--who would yield it for a grossercontent resulting from a duller vision?

To contemplate the procession that passes daily beneath my window, withits ever-shifting pictures of sorrow, of decrepitude ill-matched withwant, new motherhood, and mendicancy, with uplifted eye and palm--tolook down upon all this with only a passing sigh, as my worthy butmaterial fat landlady does, would imply a spiritual blindness infinitelyworse than the pang which the keener perception induces. 

There are in this neighborhood of moribund pretensions a few specialobjects which strike a note of such sadness in my heart that the mostexquisite pain ensues--a pain which seems almost bodily, such as thosefor which we take physic; yet I could never confuse it with theneuralgic dart which it so nearly resembles, so closely does it followthe sight or sound which I know induces it. 

There is a young lawyer who passes twice a day beneath my window. .. . Isay he is young, for all the moving world is young to me, at eighty--andyet he seems old at five-and-forty, for his temples are white. 

I know this man's history. The only son of a proud house, handsome, gifted--even somewhat of a poet in his youth--he married a soullesswoman, who began the ruin which the wine-cup finished. It is an oldstory. In a mad hour he forged another man's name--then, a wanderer onthe face of the earth, he drifted about with never a local habitation ora name, until his aged father had made good the price of his honor, whenhe came home--"tramped home, " the world says--and, now, after years ofvariable steadiness, he has built upon the wreck of his early life asort of questionable confidence which brings him half-avertedrecognition; and every day, with the gray always glistening on histemples and the clear profile of the past outlining itself--though thehigh-bred face is low between the shoulders now--he passes beneath mywindow with halting step to and from the old courthouse, where, byvirtue of his father's position, he holds a minor office. 

Almost within a stone's throw of my chamber this man and his agedfather--the latter now a hopeless paralytic--live together in the ruinsof their old home. 

Year by year the river, by constant cavings, has swallowed nearly allits extensive grounds, yet beyond the low-browed Spanish cottage thatclings close within the new levee, "the ghost of a garden" fronts theriver. Here, amid broken marbles--lyreless Apollos, Pegasus bereft ofwings, and prostrate Muses--the hardier roses, golden-rod, andhoneysuckle run riot within the old levee, between the comings of thewaters that at intervals steal in and threaten to swallow all at a gulp. 

The naked old house, grotesquely guarded by the stately skeleton of amoss-grown oak, is thus bereft, by the river in front and the publicroad at its back, of all but the bare fact of survival. 

No visitor ever enters here; but in the summer evenings two old men maybe seen creeping with difficult steps from its low portal up to the browof the bank, where they sit in silence and watch the boats go by. 

The picture is not devoid of pathos, and even the common people whispertogether as they look upon the figures of father and son sitting in themoonlight; and no one likes to pass the door at night, for there aregrewsome tales of ghosts afloat, in which decapitated statues are saidto stalk about the old garden at nightfall. 

A sigh always escapes me as I look upon this desolate scene; but it isnot now, but when the old-young man, the son, passes my door each day, carrying in his pale hands a bunch of flowers which he keeps upon hisdesk in the little back office, that my mysterious pain possesses me. 

Why does this hope-forsaken man carry a bunch of flowers? Is it thesurviving poet within him that finds companionship in them, or does heseem to see in their pure hearts, as in a mirror, a reflection of hisown sinless youth?

These questions I cannot answer; but every day, as he passes with theflowers, I follow him with fascinated eye until he is quite lost in thedistance, my heart rent the while with this incisive pain. 

Finally, he is lost to view. The dart passes through and out my breast, and, as I turn, my eye falls upon a pretty rose-garden across the way, where live a mother and her two daughters. 

 * * * *

Seventeen years ago this woman's husband--the father--went away andnever returned. The daughters are grown, and they are poor. The elderperforms some clerical work up in Canal Street, and I love to watch hertrig little figure come and go--early and late. 

The younger, who is fairer, has a lover, and the two sit together on alittle wrought-iron bench, or gather roses from the box-bordered beds inthe small inland garden, which lies behind the moss-grown wall andbattened gate; and sometimes the mother comes out and smiles upon thepair. 

The mother is a gentlewoman, and though she wears a steel thimble withan open top, like a tailor's, and her finger is pricked with the needle, she walks and smiles, even waters her roses, with a lady's grace; but itseems to me that the pretty pink daughter's lover is less a gentlemanthan this girl's lover should be--less than her grandfather must havebeen when he courted her grandmother in this same rose-garden--less thanthis maid's lover would be if her father had not gone to India, and hermother did not sew seams for a living. 

As I sit and watch this peaceful fragment of a family, my heart seems tofind repose in its apparent content; but late at night, when the loverhas gone and the mother and daughters are asleep, when I rise to closemy shutters I perceive, between the parted curtains in the mother'swindow, a light dimly burning. When I see this beacon in the desertedwife's chamber, and remember that I have seen it burning there, like thefaint but steadfast hope that refuses to be extinguished, for seventeenyears, the pain of pains comes into my heart. 

 * * * *

There is a little old man with a hump upon his shoulder who passes oftenin the crowd, and a sight of him always awakens this pain within me. 

It is not the tragedy of senility which his extreme age pictures, noryet the hump upon his back, which stirs my note of pain. 

Years ago this man left his wife, for a price, to another who hadbetrayed her, and disappeared from the scene of his ignominy. When thewoman was dead and her betrayer gone, the husband came back, an old man;and now, as I see him bending beneath its weight, the hump upon hisshoulder seems to be labelled with this price which, in my imagination, though originally the bag of gold, has by a slow and chemicallyunexplained process of ossification, become a part of himself, and willgrotesquely deform his skeleton a hundred years to come. When, morningand evening, I see this old man trudge laboriously, staggering alwaystowards the left, down the street, until he disappears in the clump ofwillows that overshadow the cemetery gate, and I know that he is goingfor a lonely vigil to the grave of the dishonored woman, his lost wife, pain, keen as a Damascus blade, enters my heart. 

 * * * *

I close my window and come in, for the night dews are falling and I amrheumatic and stiff in the legs. 

So, every night, musing, I go early to my bed, but before I lie down, after my prayer is said, I rise to put fresh water in the vase offlowers, which are always fresh, beneath the picture upon my wall. 

For one moment I stand and gaze into a pure, girlish face, with a pallidbrow and far-away blue eyes. 

She was only fifteen years old, and I twice as many, when we quarrelledlike foolish children. 

The day she married my brother--my youngest, best-beloved brotherBenjamin--I laid this miniature, face downward, in a secret drawer of mydesk. 

In the first year she died, and in another Benjamin had taken to himselfa new wife, with merrier eyes and ruddier lips. 

My heart leaped within me when I kissed my new sister, but she knew notthat my joy was because she was giving me back my love. 

Trembling with ecstasy, I took this image from its hiding-place, and fornearly fifty years the flowers beneath it have not withered. 

As I stood alone here one night, ere I knew he had entered, my littlebrother's hand was upon my shoulder. For a moment only he was silent, awe-stricken. 

"She was always yours, my brother, " he said, presently, in a tremulouswhisper. "I did not know until it was too late. She hadmisunderstood--but God was very merciful, " and turning he left her tome. 

And still each day I lay fresh flowers at her shrine, cherishing thedart that rends my heart the while, for its testimony to the immortalityof my passion. 

Do you smile because a trembling old man feasts his failing eyes on afair woman's face and prates of love and flowers and beauty? Smile ifyou will, but if you do it is because you, being of the earth, cannotunderstand. 

These things are of the spirit; and palsy and rheumatism and waningstrength are of the flesh, which profiteth nothing. 

THE END