e evergreens before
making known their errand. They sat speechless and content for several
moments, until finally a mulatto house-servant, passing from one
building to another, cast a look in their direction, and paused
uncertainly in curiosity. The man on the board-pile saw her.

"Here, Jinny! Jinny!" he called, just loud enough to be heard, and not
turning toward her more than half-way. "Come here."

"Yessah," said the girl, and slowly approached.

"Get us a little melk, Jinny," said the speaker. "We're plumb out o'
melk down home."

"Yessah," said Jinny, and disappeared leisurely, to be gone perhaps half
an hour.

There remained little sign of life on the board-pile, the bonnet tube
pointing fixedly toward the railway station, the man now and then slowly
shifting one leg across the other, but staring out at nothing, his lower
lip drooping laxly. When the servant finally brought back the milk-pail
and placed it beside him, he gave no word of thanks. To all appearances,
he was willing to wait here indefinitely, forgetful of the pail of milk,
toward which the sun was creeping ominously close. The way back home
seemed long and weary at that moment. His lip drooped still more laxly,
as he sat looking out vaguely.

Not so calm seemed his consort, she of the sunbonnet. Restored to some
extent by her tarrying in the shade, she began to shift and hitch about
uneasily upon the board-pile. At length she leaned a bit to one side,
reached into a pocket and taking out a snuff-stick and a parcel of its
attendant compound, began to take a "dip" of snuff, after the habit of
certain of the population of that region. This done, she turned with a
swift jerk of the head, bringing to bear the tube of her bonnet in full
force upon her lord and master.

"Jim Bowles," she said, "this here is a shame! Hit's a plumb shame!"

There was no answer, save an uneasy hitch on the part of the person so
addressed. He seemed to feel the focus of the sunbonnet boring into his
system. The voice in the bonnet went on, shot straight toward him, so
that he might not escape.

"It's a plumb shame," said Mrs. Bowles again.

"I know it, I know it," said her husband at length, uneasily. "But, now,
Sar' Ann, how kin I help it? The cow's daid and I kain't help it, and
that's all about it. My God, woman!"--this with sudden energy,--"do you
think I kin bring a cow to life that's been killed by the old railroad
kyahs? I ain't no 'vangelist. It ain't my fau