oted the smiles of an undersized
smirking yellow man who hurried by with a handful of dollar bills. At a
side entrance liquor was evidently on sale--men were drinking and women,
too; some were staggering, others cursing, and yet others singing. Then
suddenly a man swung around the corner swearing in bitter rage:

"The damned thieves, they'se stole a year's work--the white--" But some
one called, "Hush up, Sanders! There's a white woman." And he threw a
startled look at Mary and hurried by. She was perplexed and upset and
stood hesitating a moment when she heard a well-known voice:

"Why, Miss Taylor, I was alarmed for you; you really must be careful
about trusting yourself with these half drunken Negroes."

"Wouldn't it be better not to give them drink, Mr. Cresswell?"

"And let your neighbor sell them poison at all hours? No, Miss Taylor."
They joined the others, and all were turning toward the carriage when a
figure coming down the road attracted them.

"Quite picturesque," observed Mrs. Vanderpool, looking at the tall, slim
girl swaying toward them with a piled basket of white cotton poised
lightly on her head. "Why," in abrupt recognition, "it is our Venus of
the Roadside, is it not?"

Mary saw it was Zora. Just then, too, Zora caught sight of them, and for
a moment hesitated, then came on; the carriage was in front of the
store, and she was bound for the store. A moment Mary hesitated, too,
and then turned resolutely to greet her. But Zora's eyes did not see
her. After one look at that sorrow-stricken face, Mary turned away.

Colonel Cresswell stood by the door, his hat on, his hands in his
pockets.

"Well, Zora, what have you there?" he asked.

"Cotton, sir."

Harry Cresswell bent over it.

"Great heavens! Look at this cotton!" he ejaculated. His father
approached. The cotton lay in silken handfuls, clean and shimmering,
with threads full two inches long. The idlers, black and white,
clustered round, gazing at it, and fingering it with repeated
exclamations of astonishment.

"Where did this come from?" asked the Colonel sharply. He and Harry were
both eying the girl intently.

"I raised it in the swamp," Zora replied quietly, in a dead voice. There
was no pride of achievement in her manner, no gladness; all that had
flown.

"Is that all?"

"No, sir; I think there's two bales."

"Two bales! Where is it? How the devil--" The Colonel was forgetting his
guests, but Harry intervened.

"You'll nee