he 'ud tu'n out. O' co'se, being' in a law office is
des as pervidin', but somehow hit do seem mo' worl'y."

"Didn't I tell you de preachahs is ez worldly ez anybody else?"

"Yes, yes, dat's right, but den 'Rastus, he had de eddication, fo' he
had gone thoo de Third Readah."

Just then the gate creaked, and a little brown-faced girl, with large,
mild eyes, pushed open the door and came shyly in.

"Hyeah's some flowahs, Mis' Smif," she said. "I thought mebbe you might
like to decorate 'Rastus's room," and she wiped the confusion from her
face with her apron.

"La, chil', thankee. Dese is mighty pu'tty posies." These were the
laurels which Sally Martin had brought to lay at the feet of her
home-coming hero. No one in Cat Alley but that queer, quiet little girl
would have thought of decorating anybody's room with flowers, but she
had peculiar notions.

In the old days, when they were children, and before Erastus had gone
away to become great, they had gone up and down together along the
byways of their locality, and had loved as children love. Later, when
Erastus began keeping company, it was upon Sally that he bestowed his
affections. No one, not even her mother, knew how she had waited for him
all these years that he had been gone, few in reality, but so long and
so many to her.

And now he was coming home. She scorched something in the ironing that
day because tears of joy were blinding her eyes. Her thoughts were busy
with the meeting that was to be. She had a brand new dress for the
occasion--a lawn, with dark blue dots, and a blue sash--and there was a
new hat, wonderful with the flowers of summer, and for both of them she
had spent her hard-earned savings, because she wished to be radiant in
the eyes of the man who loved her.

Of course, Erastus had not written her; but he must have been busy, and
writing was hard work. She knew that herself, and realised it all the
more as she penned the loving little scrawls which at first she used to
send him. Now they would not have to do any writing any more; they could
say what they wanted to each other. He was coming home at last, and she
had waited long.

They paint angels with shining faces and halos, but for real radiance
one should have looked into the dark eyes of Sally as she sped home
after her contribution to her lover's reception.

When the last one of the neighbours had gone Aunt Mandy sat down to rest
herself and to await the great event. She had not s