ly.

"Then there's nothing to be done, I suppose. I hope the compensation
will satisfy you. Jerry Pollard is said to be somewhat tight-fisted, but
your business instincts may be equal to his acquirements. Now, I have a
number of letters, so, if you don't mind, I will bid you good-day."

He bowed, and Nicholas left the study and went out of the house.

Rain was still falling, and small pools of water had formed on the
palace green. Straight ahead the lane of maples stretched like a line of
half-extinguished fires, and the ground beneath was strewn with wet, red
leaves. The slanting sheets of rain gave a sombre aspect to the town--to
the time-beaten buildings along the unpaved streets and to the commons,
where the water stood in grassy hollows. Beneath the gray sky the scene
assumed a spectre-like suggestion of death and decay--the death of
laughter that seemed still to echo faintly from the vanished stones--the
decay of royal charters and of kingly grants. The very air was
reminiscent of a yesterday that was perished; the red, wet leaves
painted the brown earth in historic colours.

Nicholas turned the corner at the church and passed on to Jerry
Pollard's store--a long, low structure fronting on the main street--and
entered by a single step from the sidewalk. The show windows on either
side the entrance displayed a motley selection from the varied
assortment of a "general" store--cheap silks and high-coloured calicos,
men's shirts and women's shoes, cravats and hairpins, suspenders and
corsets. On the sidewalk near the doorway there was a baby carriage, a
saddle, and a collection of farming implements. As Nicholas crossed the
threshold a pink-cheeked girl passed him, her arms filled with bundles,
and at the counter an old negro woman was pricing red flannel.

Jerry Pollard, a coarse-featured, full-bearded man of sixty years, was
behind the counter. Nicholas caught his persuasive tones as he leaned
over, holding the end of the bolt of flannel in his hands.

"Now, look here, Aunty, you ain't going to find such a bargain as this
anywhere else in town. Take my oath on that. Every thread wool and
forty-four inches wide. Only thirty cents a yard, too. I got it at an
auction in Richmond, or I couldn't let it go at double that price. How
much? All right."

The flannel was measured off with skilful manipulations of the yardstick
and the scissors, the parcel was handed to the old negro woman, and the
change was dropped into