rench-talking mulatto, who had come up from
New Orleans to repair the machinery in the sugar-house, and who was
buying land in the vicinity, and drove his own sulky. Pete was less
prosperous than he, but, although he worked his land on shares, he
owned two mules and a saddle horse, and would be allowed to enter on a
purchase of land whenever he should choose to do so. Although Pete and
the New Orleans fellow, whose name was also Peter, but who was called
Pierre, met constantly in a friendly enough way, they did not love
each other. They both loved Lily too much for that. But they laughed
good-naturedly together at Apollo and his "case," which they inquired
after politely, as if it were a member of his family.

"Well, 'Pollo, how's yo' case on Miss Lily comin' on?" either one would
say, with a wink at the other, and Apollo would artlessly report the
state of the heavens with relation to his particular star, as when he
once replied to this identical question:

"Well, Miss Lily was mighty obstropulous 'istiddy, but she is mo'
cancelized dis mornin'."

It was Pete who had asked the question, and he laughed aloud at the
answer. "Mo' cancelized dis mornin', is she?" he replied. "How do you
know she is?"

"'Caze she lemme tote her hoe all de way up f'rom de field," answered
the ingenuous Apollo.

"She did, did she? An' who was walkin' by her side all dat time, I like
to know?"

Apollo winced a little at this, but he answered, bravely, "I don't kyah
ef Pier was walkin' wid her; I was totin' her hoe, all de samee."

The Christmas-eve dance in the sugar-house had been for years an annual
function on the plantation. At this, since her debut, at fourteen, three
Christmases before, Lily had held undisputed sway, and all her former
belles amiably accepted their places as lesser lights.

Lily was perfectly ravishing in her splendor at the dance this year. The
white Swiss frock she wore was high in the neck, but her brown shoulders
and arms shone through the thin fabric with fine effect. About her slim
waist she tied a narrow ribbon of blue, and she carried a pink feather
fan, and the wreath about her forehead was of lilies-of-the-valley. She
had done a day's scouring for them, and they had come out of the summer
hat of one of the white ladies on the coast. This insured their quality,
and no doubt contributed somewhat to the quiet serenity with which she
bore herself as, with her little head held like that of the Venus of
Mil