em jumbles. Ah heah him talkin' ter Mars' John.
'Reck'n yo' mus' hab er crackahjack cook down heah,' he say. Hyuh,
hyuh!"

"G'way wid yo' blackgyardin'!" sniffed Aunt Daphne, delighted. "Don'
need ter come eroun' honey-caffuddlin' _me_!"

"Dat's whut he say," insisted Uncle Jefferson; "he did fo' er fac'!"

She drew her hands from the suds and looked at him anxiously.
"Jeffe'son, yo' reck'n Mars' John gwineter fetch dat Yankee 'ooman heah
ter Dam'ry Co'ot, ter be ouah mistis?"

"Humph!" scoffed her spouse. "Dat high-falutin' gal whut done swaller de
ramrod? No suh-ree-bob-tail! De oldah yo' gits, de mo' foolishah yo'
citations is! Don' yo' tek no mo' trouble on yo' back den yo' kin keek
off'n yo' heels! _She_ ain' gwineter run _dis_ place, er ol' Devil-John
tuhn ovah in he grave!"

Sunset found Valiant sitting in the music-room before the old square
piano. In the shadowy chamber the keys of mother-of-pearl gleamed with
dull colors under his fingers. He struck at first only broken chords,
that became finally the haunting barcarole of _Tales of Hoffmann_. It
was the air that had drifted across the garden when he had stood with
Shirley by the sun-dial, in the moment of their first kiss. Over and
over he played it, improvising dreamy variations, till the tender melody
seemed the dear ghost of that embrace. At length he went into the
library and in the crimsoning light sat down at the desk, and began to
write:

"_Dear Bluebird of mine_:

"I can't wait any longer to talk to you. Less than a day has
passed since we were together, but it might have been eons, if
one measured time by heart-beats. What have you been doing and
thinking, I wonder? I have spent those eons in the garden, just
wandering about, dreaming over those wonderful, wonderful
moments by the sun-dial. Ah, dear little wild heart born of the
flowers, with the soul of a bird (yet you are woman, too!) that
old disk is marking happy hours now for me!

"How have I deserved this thing that has come to me?--sad
bungler that I have been! Sometimes it seems too glad and
sweet, and I am suddenly desperately afraid I shall wake to
find myself facing another dull morning in that old, useless,
empty life of mine. I am very humble, dear, before your love.

"Shall I tell you when it began with me? Not last night--nor
the day we planted the ramblers. (Do you know, when your little
m