ll on the Farthing Doll, proposed that he and Claribelle should go
thither.

"What!" she exclaimed haughtily. "Pay a call on that Farthing creature!
_Certainly_ not!"

"I, at least, must go, sooner or later," the Driver replied.

"Why?" she asked much displeased.

"Because did I not call," answered he kindly but firmly, "I should be
lacking in courtesy to a lady who has never shown me anything but the
utmost civility. However, since you do not wish it, I will not go
to-day."

"I do not wish you to go at all," she said. "But I see it is quite
sufficient for me to say that I do not desire you to do a thing, for you
to do it."

And after this she sulked and said she did not love him.

Upon this the Driver bethought him a new song he had just learnt, and he
determined to sing it in the hope of winning her back to good temper. So
he began:

"'Oh, down in Alabama, before I was set free,
I loved a dark-eyed, yaller girl,
And thought--'"

But he got no further, for here Claribelle interrupted him.

"Does that apply to _me_?" she said with flashing eyes.

"Well, you _have_ dark eyes, you know," he said pleasantly, hoping to
make her smile. "Beautiful dark eyes, too."

"Stop the wagon!" she said furiously. "I will not be so insulted. Dark
eyes, yes; but yaller! yaller! yaller!"

"Allow me to explain. I only--" began the Driver.

"_Yaller_, indeed! Stop the Wagon!"

"I should like to say--"

"A dark-eyed, _yaller_ girl! Stop the Wagon,--and consider our
engagement at an end."

"_Will_ you let me--"

But Claribelle shook her head furiously, and in her rage tried to jump
out of the Wagon. So the Driver, fearing she would break her neck, did
as she requested and pulled up his horse, when she immediately alighted.
Then she swept away, flouncing her pink silk dress, and with her head in
the air.

The Driver called later and tried to pacify her, but she would not
listen. She only turned her back upon him--which was a very rude thing
to do--and persisted in saying that their engagement was at an end.

So the Wagoner whipped up his horse and went away sad and sorry. He
looked, indeed, so sad that the haughty Claribelle nearly repented of
her pride and was just about to call him back.

"But he'll return to-morrow," she said to herself, "and he must be
taught not to make false remarks about my complexion. Fancy calling me
'yaller!'"

The next day he came as she expected.

"Do I still look yaller?