stayed open. "_Him!_"
he muttered, faintly. "_Singin'_!"

"Well, the old Triangle knew the music of our tread;
How the peaceful Seminole would tremble in his bed!"

sang the editor. "I dunno huccome it," exclaimed the old man, "an' dat
ain' hyer ner dar; but, bless Gawd! de young man' happy!" A thought
struck him suddenly, and he scratched his head. "Maybe he goin' away,"
he said, querulously. "What become o' ole Zen?" The splashing ceased,
but not the voice, which struck into a noble marching chorus. "Oh, my
Lawd," said the colored man, "I pray you listen at dat!"

"Soldiers marching up the street,
They keep the time;
They look sublime!
Hear them play Die Wacht am Rhein!
They call them Schneider's Band.
Tra la la la, la!"

The length of Main Street and all the Square resounded with the rattle
of vehicles of every kind. Since earliest dawn they had been pouring
into the village, a long procession on every country road. There were
great red and blue farm wagons, drawn by splendid Clydesdales; the
elders of the family on the front seat and on boards laid from side to
side in front, or on chairs placed close behind, while, in the deep beds
back of these, children tumbled in the straw, or peeped over the sides,
rosy-cheeked and laughing, eyes alight with blissful anticipations.
There were more pretentious two-seated cut-unders and stout buckboards,
loaded down with merrymakers, four on a seat meant for two; there were
rattle-trap phaetons and comfortable carry-alls drawn by steady spans;
and, now and then, mule teams bringing happy negroes, ready to squander
all on the first Georgia watermelons and cider. Every vehicle contained
heaping baskets of good things to eat (the previous night had been a
woeful Bartholomew for Carlow chickens) and underneath, where the dogs
paced faithfully, swung buckets and fodder for the horses, while colts
innumerable trotted dose to the maternal flanks, viewing the world with
their big, new eyes in frisky surprise.

Here and there the trim side-bar buggy of some prosperous farmer's
son, escorting his sweetheart, flashed along the road, the young mare
stepping out in pride of blood to pass the line of wagons, the youth who
held the reins, resplendent in Sunday best and even better, his scorched
brown face glowing with a fine belief in the superiority of both his
steed and his lady; the latter beaming ou