mpier's
little negro groom over the head with his crop. After that, of
course, there was nothing to do but challenge him. You must be
thinking of Barton Bailey, Eliza DuFour's grandfather on her
mother's side. _He_ was a complete scoundrel. His poor wife (she was
a Garrett; very dull, poor thing, like all the Garretts, but at
least the Garretts were honest, which is more than even charity can
say for the Baileys) his wife led a martyr's life with him. Or
maybe you're thinking of Tiger Bill Pendarvis. A most _awful_
person!--almost an out-law!"

Mrs. Scarboro looked up, bit off a thread, and said placidly:

"Oh, awful! He was a cousin of mine on dear Papa's side of the
family. Papa and Mama used to say that they never could understand
why Cousin Sophronisba Hynds didn't pick out Tiger Bill instead of
pouncing upon a perfectly innocent little Englishman."

I sat and listened. One thing was joyously clear and plain to me.
They liked and trusted me enough now to talk about their own people
before me, which is the high sign of fellowship in South Carolina.
But learn, O outsider, that silence is golden, so far as _you_ are
concerned. Wisely did I hold my peace, and devoutly thank the Lord
that times had changed for the better.

For a great deal of that change I had to thank my dear girl, so much
more clever and tactful than I. And so I would not cloud her last
days with me by letting her see that I was unhappy. Only, I was glad
this afternoon to be by myself for a breathing-space. It rests one's
face occasionally to take off one's smile. I took off mine, then,
and let down the corners of my mouth.

The door leading to the hall was half open. The house was full of
blue-gray shadows, and had a drowsy hush upon it, a pleasanter hush
than it used to know. One heard the rushing wind outside, and above
it Mary Magdalen singing one of her interminable "speretuals."

A slinking shadow stole through the hall, a wary yellow head
appeared in the door, and Beautiful Dog sneaked into the room.
Beautiful Dog had not known a happy day since the departure of Mr.
Johnson. Not all the coddlings of the cook, nor the blandishments of
sympathetic housemaids consoled him for the absence of his god. He
grew thinner, if that could be possible. His tail hung at half-mast,
his ears were a signal of mourning. Queenasheeba said he looked like
"sumpin' 'at happened to a dawg."

One hope sustained Beautiful Dog's drooping spirit--the hope that he