ll."

As Whistling Dick put his hands in his pockets and continued his
curtailed beat up and down by the fire, he felt the silk stocking he
had picked up in the road.

"Ther bloomin' little skeezicks," he muttered, with a grin.

As he walked up and down he could see, through a sort of natural
opening or lane among the trees, the planter's residence some
seventy-five yards distant. The side of the house toward him
exhibited spacious, well-lighted windows through which a soft
radiance streamed, illuminating the broad veranda and some extent
of the lawn beneath.

"What's that you said?" asked Boston, sharply.

"Oh, nuttin' 't all," said Whistling Dick, lounging carelessly, and
kicking meditatively at a little stone on the ground.

"Just as easy," continued the warbling vagrant softly to himself,
"an' sociable an' swell an' sassy, wit' her 'Mer-ry Chris-mus,' Wot
d'yer t'ink, now!"

Dinner, two hours late, was being served in the Bellemeade
plantation dining-room.

The dining-room and all its appurtenances spoke of an old regime
that was here continued rather than suggested to the memory. The
plate was rich to the extent that its age and quaintness alone saved
it from being showy; there were interesting names signed in the
corners of the pictures on the walls; the viands were of the kind
that bring a shine into the eyes of gourmets. The service was swift,
silent, lavish, as in the days when the waiters were assets like the
plate. The names by which the planter's family and their visitors
addressed one another were historic in the annals of two nations.
Their manners and conversation had that most difficult kind of
ease--the kind that still preserves punctilio. The planter himself
seemed to be the dynamo that generated the larger portion of the
gaiety and wit. The younger ones at the board found it more than
difficult to turn back on him his guns of raillery and banter. It is
true, the young men attempted to storm his works repeatedly, incited
by the hope of gaining the approbation of their fair companions; but
even when they sped a well-aimed shaft, the planter forced them to
feel defeat by the tremendous discomfiting thunder of the laughter
with which he accompanied his retorts. At the head of the table,
serene, matronly, benevolent, reigned the mistress of the house,
placing here and there the right smile, the right word, the
encouraging glance.

The talk of the party was too desultory, too evanescent to