le of molasses-barrels, where he had come "to cool
off."

Lily had several times been "buggy-ridin'" with Pierre in this same
"borgee," and it was a very magnificent affair in her eyes. When he told
her that it was to be hers she gasped. Such presents were unknown on the
plantation. But Lily was a "mannerly" member of good society, if her
circle was small, and she was not to be taken aback by any compliment a
man should pay her. She simply fanned herself, a little flurriedly,
perhaps, with her feather fan, as she said: "You sho' must be jokin',
Mr. Pier. You cert'n'y must." But Mr. Pierre was not joking. He was
never more in earnest in his life, and he told her so, and there is no
telling what else he would have told her but for the fact that Mr. Pete
Peters happened to come out to the shed to cool off about this time, and
as he almost brushed her shoulder, it was as little as Lily could do to
address a remark to him, and then, of course, he stopped and chatted a
while; and after what appeared a reasonable interval, long enough for it
not to seem that she was too much elated over it, she remarked, "An'
by-de-way, Mr. Peters, I must tell you what a lovely Christmas gif' I
have just received by de hand of Mr. Pier. He has jest presented me wid
his yaller-wheeled buggy, an' I sho' is proud of it." Then, turning to
Pierre, she added, "You sho' is a mighty generous gen'leman, Mr.
Pier--you cert'n'y is."

Peters gave Lily one startled look, but he instantly realized, from her
ingenuous manner, that there was nothing back of the gift of the
buggy--that is, it had been, so far as she was concerned, simply a
Christmas present. Pierre had not offered himself with the gift. And if
this were so, well, he reckoned he could match him.

He reached forward and took Lily's fan from her hand. He hastened to do
this to keep Pierre from taking it. Then, while he fanned her, he said,
"Is dat so, Miss Lily, dat Mr. Pier is give you a buggy? Dat sholy is a
fine Christmas gif'--it sho' is. An' sence you fin' yo'se'f possessed of
a buggy, I trust you will allow me de pleasure of presentin' you wid a
horse to drive _in_ de buggy." He made a graceful bow as he spoke, a
bow that would have done credit to the man from New Orleans. It was so
well done, indeed, that Lily unconsciously bowed in return, as she
said, with a look that savored a little of roguishness: "Oh, hursh, Mr.
Peters! You des a-guyin' me--dat what you doin'."

"Guyin' nothin',"