from the poor
living-room.

Cissie was hardly inside when a voice stated that it hated to see a gal
running after a man, trying to bait him with a lot of fum-diddles.

Cissie gave Peter a single wide-eyed glance, and then attempted to
ignore the bodiless comment.

"Here are some cookies, Mr. Siner," began the girl, rather nervously. "I
thought you and Ahnt Carolin'--"

"Yeah, I 'magine dey's fuh me!" jeered the spectral voice.

"Might like them," concluded the girl, with a little gasp.

"I suttinly don' want no light-fingered hussy ma'yin' my son," proceeded
the voice, "an' de whole Dildine fambly 'll bear watchin'."

[Illustration: In the Siner cabin old Caroline Siner berated her boy.]

"Won't you have a seat?" asked Peter, exquisitely uncomfortable.

Cissie handed him her plate in confusion.

"Why, no, Mr. Siner," she hastened on, in her careful grammar, "I just--
ran over to--"

"To fling herse'f in a nigger's face 'cause he's been North and got
made a fool uv," boomed the hidden censor.

"I must go now," gasped Cissie.

Peter made a harried gesture.

"Wait--wait till I get my hat."

He put the plate down with a swift glance around for his hat. He found
it, and strode to the door, following the girl. The two hurried out into
the street, followed by indistinct strictures from the kitchen. Cissie
breathed fast, with open lips. They moved rapidly along the semicircular
street almost with a sense of flight. The heat of the early autumn sun
stung them through their clothes. For some distance they walked in a
nervous silence, then Cissie said:

"Your mother certainly hates me, Peter."

"No," said Peter, trying to soften the situation; "it's me; she's
terribly hurt about--" he nodded to-ward the white section--"that
business."

Cissie opened her clear brown eyes.

"Your own mother turned against you!"

"Oh, she has a right to be," began Peter, defensively. "I ought to have
read that deed. It's amazing I didn't, but I--I really wasn't expecting
a trick, Mr. Hooker seemed so--so sympathetic--" He came to a lame halt,
staring at the dust through which they picked their way.

"Of course you weren't expecting tricks!" cried Cissie, warmly. "The
whole thing shows you're a gentleman used to dealing with gentlemen. But
of course these Hooker's Bend negroes will never see that!"

Peter, surprised and grateful, looked at Cissie. Her construction of the
swindle was more flattering than any apology he had