ave their own "society," and human enough to despise
those who did not possess advantages equal to their own; and at this
time they still looked down upon those who had once been held in
bondage. The only black man present occupied a chair which stood on a
broad chest in one corner, and extracted melody from a fiddle to which
a whole generation of the best people of Patesville had danced and made
merry. Uncle Needham seldom played for colored gatherings, but made an
exception in Mis' Molly's case; she was not white, but he knew her
past; if she was not the rose, she had at least been near the rose.
When the company had gathered, Mary B., as mistress of ceremonies,
whispered to Uncle Needham, who tapped his violin sharply with the bow.

"Ladies an' gent'emens, take yo' pa'dners fer a Fuhginny reel!"

Mr. Wain, as the guest of honor, opened the ball with his hostess. He
wore a broadcloth coat and trousers, a heavy glittering chain across
the spacious front of his white waistcoat, and a large red rose in his
buttonhole. If his boots were slightly run down at the heel, so
trivial a detail passed unnoticed in the general splendor of his
attire. Upon a close or hostile inspection there would have been some
features of his ostensibly good-natured face--the shifty eye, the full
and slightly drooping lower lip--which might have given a student of
physiognomy food for reflection. But whatever the latent defects of
Wain's character, he proved himself this evening a model of geniality,
presuming not at all upon his reputed wealth, but winning golden
opinions from those who came to criticise, of whom, of course, there
were a few, the company being composed of human beings.

When the dance began, Wain extended his large, soft hand to Mary B.,
yellow, buxom, thirty, with white and even teeth glistening behind her
full red lips. A younger sister of Mary B.'s was paired with Billy
Oxendine, a funny little tailor, a great gossip, and therefore a
favorite among the women. Mis' Molly graciously consented, after many
protestations of lack of skill and want of practice, to stand up
opposite Homer Pettifoot, Mary B.'s husband, a tall man, with a slight
stoop, a bald crown, and full, dreamy eyes,--a man of much imagination
and a large fund of anecdote. Two other couples completed the set;
others were restrained by bashfulness or religious scruples, which did
not yield until later in the evening.

The perfumed air from the garden with