ttle Sally Ma'tin yo' used to go wid almos' f'om de time you
was babies? W'y, I'm s'prised at you."

"She has slipped my mind," said the young man.

For a long while the neighbours who had come and Aunt Mandy sat up to
wait for Erastus, but he did not come in until the last one was gone. In
fact, he did not get in until nearly four o'clock in the morning,
looking a little weak, but at least in the best of spirits, and he
vouchsafed to his waiting mother the remark that "the little old town
wasn't so bad, after all."

Aunt Mandy preferred the request that she had had in mind for some time,
that he would go to church the next day, and he consented, because his
trunk had come.

It was a glorious Sunday morning, and the old lady was very proud in
her stiff gingham dress as she saw her son come into the room arrayed in
his long coat, shiny hat, and shinier shoes. Well, if it was true that
he was changed, he was still her 'Rastus, and a great comfort to her.
There was no vanity about the old woman, but she paused before the glass
a longer time than usual, settling her bonnet strings, for she must look
right, she told herself, to walk to church with that elegant son of
hers. When he was all ready, with cane in hand, and she was pausing with
the key in the door, he said, "Just walk on, mother, I'll catch you in a
minute or two." She went on and left him.

He did not catch her that morning on her way to church, and it was a
sore disappointment, but it was somewhat compensated for when she saw
him stalking into the chapel in all his glory, and every head in the
house turned to behold him.

There was one other woman in "Little Africa" that morning who stopped
for a longer time than usual before her looking-glass and who had never
found her bonnet strings quite so refractory before. In spite of the
vexation of flowers that wouldn't settle and ribbons that wouldn't tie,
a very glad face looked back at Sally Martin from her little mirror. She
was going to see 'Rastus, 'Rastus of the old days in which they used to
walk hand in hand. He had told her when he went away that some day he
would come back and marry her. Her heart fluttered hotly under her
dotted lawn, and it took another application of the chamois to take the
perspiration from her face. People had laughed at her, but that morning
she would be vindicated. He would walk home with her before the whole
church. Already she saw him bowing before her, hat in hand, and heard