and kiss him good-by; he loved to see Martha
walk with him to the gate and throw kisses after him until he turned
the curve in the road.

Martha was a pale, thin girl with two long, straight plaits and a
long, straight dress. She went to school in the morning, and when she
came home at noon her mother always hurried to meet her and kissed her
on both cheeks. Sandy had got quite in the habit of watching for her
at the side window where she came to study. He leaned forward now to
see if she were there.

"I thought so!" cried Mrs. Hollis, looking over his shoulder. "There
comes the Nelson phaeton this minute! Melvy, get on your white apron.
I'll wind up the cuckoo-clock and unlock the parlor door."

"Who is it?" ventured Sandy, with internal tremors.

"Hit's Mrs. Nelson an' her niece, Miss Rufe," said Aunt Melvy,
nervously trying to reverse her apron after tying the bow in the
front. "Dey's big bugs, dey is. Dey is quality, an' no mistake. I
b'longed to Miss Rufe's grandpaw; he done lef' her all his money, she
an' Mr. Carter. Poor Mr. Carter! Dey say he ain't got no lungs to
speak of. Ain't no wonder he's sorter wild like. He takes after his
grandpaw, my ole mars'. Lor', honey, de mint-juleps jus' nachelly ooze
outen de pores ob his grandpaw's skin! But Miss Rufe she ain't like
none ob dem Nelsons; she favors her maw. She's quality inside an'
out."

A peal of the bell cut short further interesting revelations. Aunt
Melvy hurried through the hall, leaving doors open behind her. At the
front door she paused in dismay. Before her stood the Nelsons in
calling attire, presenting two immaculate cards for her acceptance.
Too late she remembered her instructions.

"'Fore de Lawd!" she cried in consternation, "ef I ain't done fergit
dat pan ag'in!"

Sandy, left alone in the dining-room, was listening with every nerve
a-quiver for the sound of Ruth's voice. The thought that she was here
under the same roof with him sent the blood bounding through his
veins. He pulled himself up, and trailing the blanket behind him, made
his way somewhat unsteadily across the room and up the back stairs.

Behind the door of his room hung the pride of his soul, a new suit of
clothes, whole, patchless, clean, which the judge had bought him two
days before. He had sat before it in speechless admiration; he had
hung it in every possible light to get the full benefit of its beauty;
he had even in the night placed it on a chair beside the bed, so