His thoughts were leading him in a circle, and it was a relief when
Melissa appeared in the doorway. He sprang up to welcome her.

"Come in, Mrs. Yare-brough. How do you do?"

"Ah'm well, thank ye. How are you?" returned Melissa, in the polite
formula of her kind.

"Won't you have a cup of coffee?"

"No, Ah thank you. How's Mrs. Baron?"

"Mrs. Baron? Oh! She was very well the last time I was at Oakwood. She
asks fr-requently for you and the baby."

"Mrs. Baron's so sweet! Ah never 'lowed to like anybody's much's Miss
Sydney, but Mrs. Baron's jus' splendid."

With a woman's care-taking instinct, she began to gather together the
dishes on the table and prepare them for washing.

"No, let me," she said, in response to von Rittenheim's objection.
"Jus' while Ah'm talkin'. Ah stopped by to tell ye that Ah'm goin' to
have a party to-night, an' Ah'd be proud to have you-all come to hit."

Her interest in him was so evident, and her desire to give him pleasure
so real, that Friedrich responded, heartily,--

"Certainly, I shall go. It will give me delight. It is kind of you to
ask me."

Melissa turned away, and rattled the knives and forks in gratified
embarrassment.

"Hit's goin' to be to mother's 'cos her house is larger. You know where
hit is?"

"Yes, indeed. Is it a dance?"

"Hit's a poke party, but there'll be dancin', too."

"A poke party! What is that?"

"Don't you-all know what a poke party is?"

"Poke? That is what I do with my finger at the baby."

Melissa laughed aloud.

"You wait 'n see, then. Ah reckon hit'll be a surprise party fo' you as
well as a poke party."

It was clear that Melissa had imparted to her friends the Baron's guess
as to the probable nature of a poke party, for he was greeted with
broad smiles as he made his way through the crowd of men and boys about
Mrs. Lance's door into the room where dancing was going on. Melissa
came to him and proposed a seat beside Mrs. 'Gene Frady until the
cotillon should be ended, but von Rittenheim preferred to go about the
room as dexterously as he might in avoidance of the dancers, speaking
to his acquaintances among the women and girls who lined its walls.
There was space upon the floor for only two sets, and the lookers-on
gossiped patiently, until such time as Alf Lance, the fiddler, should
grow weary and let fall his bow.

"They's fo' blue waistes here to-night. Ollie Warson looks mahty sweet
in her's."

"Do you think so? Hit seems l