't keep me a minute--'cause I won't give you a minute! There's
others who've got skins!" And he passed quickly out.

Stone could do no more than glare after him, and he then said something
which is not usually said in sick rooms.

"Won' a li'l cullud skin do?" the old nurse looked timidly up at him.

He shook his head; smiling, but sadly.

She sighed. The windows were getting black now; night was settling over
the earth; yet this man in whose hands rested the fate of Mesmie walked
softly back and forth across the room, muttering:

"I must have good skin."

"I knows whar you kin git good skin," she whispered excitedly, arising
and grasping him by the sleeve. "Git in dar-ar churn of yoh'n an' go dis
minit to Tom Hewlet's house, den tell Miss Nancy ole Timmie say we'se
countin' on her! She'll come, too! Make haste now, man!"

The noise of his little machine was growing faint, when the door opened
and Brent stood on the threshold.

"Where's Stone, Aunt Timmie?"

"He's done gone," she sharply answered, for by now her heart was beating
with strong resentment against entire mankind. "What you want 'im fer?"

"Nothing, so long as he isn't here," Brent turned away.

But she was following. After all, he did come to the little girl's
relief--even though his intimacy with juleps had spoiled the offer. So
she called after him in a kinder voice:

"I never said he warn't comin' back! What you want 'im fer, Marse Brent?
Is you sick?"

"No," he gave a short laugh. "It's this way: He couldn't use me on
account of my drinking--even little as it now is; and I wanted to ask
how long a fellow must be entirely free from it to make his skin a good
grafting proposition. If he thinks Mesmie can wait that long, I'll stop
to-night and get ready. That's all. Tell him, will you, Aunt Timmie? And
let me know? I'll be up stairs pretty soon."

A soft light crept into her face.

"We don' need it now, chile," she murmured. "We'se gwine git some nice,
soft lady-like skin. De doctor's done gone arter her!"

"You don't mean Miss Jane!" he turned furiously upon her. "She shan't do
it, I tell you!"

"Since when's you had de right to say what she kin do an' what she
cyarn' do, I'd lak to know? But," she began to chuckle, "as you 'pears
so upsot 'bout it, I'll tell you he ain' gwine arter Miss Jane. Now,
better go home, an' not talk so loud!"

Embarrassed, he started toward the house.

"Bress yoh heart," she whispered to herself. "Dar is