rony
and less of sarcasm, might have seen that Jud's courtesy was strongly
savored of the two.

"Be seated, Madam," he said with a profound bow. "Be seated, Upholder
of Heaven, Chief-cook-an'-bottle-washer in the Kingdom to come! An'
what may have sent the angel of the Lord to honor us with another
visit?"

The old woman's fighting feathers arose instantly:--

"The same that sent 'em to Sodom an' Gomarrer, suh," she replied.

"Ah," said Jud apologetically, "an' I hope we won't smell any
brimstone to-night."

"If you don't smell it to-night, you'll smell it befo' long. And now
look aheah, Mister White Man, no use for you an' me to set here
a-jawin' an' 'spu'tin'. I've come after my other gyrl an' you know
I'm gwine have her!"

"Oh, she'll be out 'torectly, Mrs. Zion! Jes' keep yo' robes on an'
hol' yo' throne down a little while. She'll be out 'torectly."

There was a motive in this lie, as there was in all others Jud
Carpenter told.

It was soon apparent. For scarcely had the old woman seated herself
with a significant toss of her head when the mill began to cease to
hum and roar.

She sat watching the door keenly as they came out. What creatures
they were, lint-and-dust-covered to their very eyes. The yellow,
hard, emotionless faces of the men, the haggard, weary ones of the
girls and women and little children! Never had she seen such white
people before, such hollow eyes, with dark, bloodless rings beneath
them, sunken cheeks, tanned to the color of oiled hickory, much used.
Dazed, listless, they stumbled out past her with relaxed under-jaws
and faces gloomy, expressionless--so long bent over looms, they had
taken on the very looks of them--the shapes of them, moving, walking,
working, mechanically. Women, smileless, and so tired and numbed that
they had forgotten the strongest instinct of humanity--the romance of
sex; for many of them wore the dirty, chopped-off jackets of men,
their slouched black hats, their coarse shoes, and talked even in the
vulgar, hard irony of the male in despair.

They all passed out--one by one--for in them was not even the
instinct of the companionship of misery.

Every moment the old nurse expected Helen to walk out, to walk out in
her queenly way, with her beautiful face and manners, so different
from those around her.

Jud Carpenter sat at his desk quietly cutting plug tobacco to fill
his pipe-bowl, and watching the old woman slyly.

"Oh, she'll be 'long 'torectly--yo