er of his room. Sure enough, he found two frayed but clean
towels, a pan, a pitcher, and a small tub all made of tin. Peter
assembled his find and began splashing his heavily molded chest with a
feeling of well-being. As he splashed on the water, he amused himself by
listening again to old Rose. She was now complaining that some white
young'uns had called her "raving Rose." She hoped "God'lmighty would
send down two she bears and eat 'em up." Peter was amazed by the old
crone's ability to maintain an unending flow of concentrated and aimless
virulence.

The kitchen of the Renfrew manor was a separate building, and presently
Peter saw old Rose carrying great platters across the weed-grown
compound into the dining-room. She bore plate after plate piled high
with cookery,--enough for a company of men. A little later came a
clangor on a rusty triangle, as if she were summoning a house party. Old
Rose did things in a wholesale spirit.

Peter started for his door, but when he had opened the shutter, he stood
hesitating. Breakfast introduced another delicate problem. He decided
not to go to the dining-room at once, but to wait and allow Captain
Renfrew to indicate whether he, Peter, should break his fast with the
master in the dining-room or with old Rose in the kitchen.

A moment later he saw the Captain coming down the long back piazza.
Peter almost addressed his host, but the old Southerner proceeded into
the dining-room apparently without seeing Peter at all.

The guest was gathering his breath to call good morning, but took the
cue with a negro's sensitiveness, and let his eyes run along the weeds
in the compound. The drying stalks were woven with endless spider-webs,
all white with frost. Peter stood regarding their delicate geometries a
moment longer and then reentered his room, not knowing precisely what to
do. He could hear Rose walking across the piazza to and from the dining-
room, and the clink of tableware. A few minutes later a knock came at
his door, and the old woman entered with a huge salver covered with
steaming dishes.

The negress came into the room scowling, and seemed doubtful for a
moment just how to shut the door and still hold the tray with both
hands. She solved the problem by backing against the door tremendously.
Then she saw Peter. She straightened and stared at him with outraged
dignity.

"Well, 'fo' Gawd! Is I bringin' dish-here breakfus' to a nigger?"

"I suppose it's mine," agreed Pete