e in, jes' thet thar minit,--they
gen'rally _is_ a right smart chance o' people in when a feller sets
'em up! an' they wuz powerful dry,--they gen'rally is dry, _then_; an'
the long an' short o' 'tis, they cleaned me out. An' now, Bishop, I
jes' feel nashuated with myself. Suah 's yo' bawn, Bishop, I'm gwine
ter reform. 'Stop short, an' nevah go on again,' like thet thar clock
in the song. I am, fur a fac', sir. I'm repentin' to a s'prisin'
extent."

"I certainly should be surprised if you _were_ repentant," the Bishop
said, dryly; then, after a pause, "Well, Demming, I will help you this
once again. I will buy you a ticket to Charleston."

Some one had come up to the couple unperceived; this person spoke
quickly: "Please let me do that, Bishop. Demming has afforded me
enough entertainment for that."

"You don' think no gre't shakes o' me, do you, Cunnel?" said Demming,
looking at Talboys half humorously, yet with a shade of something else
in his expression. "You poke fun at me all the time. Well, pleases
you, an' don' hurt me, I reckon. Mahnin', Bishop; mahnin', Cunnel.
I'll be at th' deppo." He waved his hand and shambled away. Both men
looked after him.

"I will see that he gets off," said Talboys. "I leave Aiken, myself,
in the morning."

"Leave Aiken?" the Bishop repeated. "But you will return?"

"I don't expect to."

"Why, I am sorry to hear that, Mr. Talboys,--truly sorry." The Bishop
took the young man's hand and pressed it. "I am just beginning to know
you; I may say, to like you, if you will permit the expression. Won't
you walk in with me now, and say good-by to my daughter?"

"Thanks, very much, but I have already made my adieux to Miss Louise."

"Ah, yes, certainly," said the Bishop, absently.

He was an absorbed clergyman; but he had sharp enough eyes, did he
choose to use them; and Talboys's reddening cheeks told him a great
deal. It cannot be said that he was sorry because his daughter had not
looked kindly on this worldly and cynical young man's affection; but
he was certainly sorry for the young man himself, and his parting
grasp of the hand was warmer than it would have been but for that
fleeting blush.

"Poor fellow, poor fellow!" soliloquized the Bishop, when, after a few
cordial words, they had parted. "He looks as though it had hurt him. I
suppose that is the way we all take it. Well, time cures us; but it
would scarcely do to tell him that, or how much harder it is to win a
woman,