zing; a piece of Mis' Molly's famous potato pone from Rena's
hands,--a bone to a dog, Peter called it once;--were ample rewards for
the thousand and one small services Frank had rendered the two women
who lived in the house behind the cedars.

Frank went over in the morning a little ahead of the appointed time,
and waited on the back piazza until his services were required.

"You ain't gwine ter be gone long, is you, Miss Rena?" he inquired,
when Rena came out dressed for the journey in her best frock, with
broad white collar and cuffs.

Rena did not know. She had been asking herself the same question. All
sorts of vague dreams had floated through her mind during the last few
hours, as to what the future might bring forth. But she detected the
anxious note in Frank's voice, and had no wish to give this faithful
friend of the family unnecessary pain.

"Oh, no, Frank, I reckon not. I'm supposed to be just going on a short
visit. My brother has lost his wife, and wishes me to come and stay
with him awhile, and look after his little boy."

"I'm feared you'll lack it better dere, Miss Rena," replied Frank
sorrowfully, dropping his mask of unconcern, "an' den you won't come
back, an' none er yo' frien's won't never see you no mo'."

"You don't think, Frank," asked Rena severely, "that I would leave my
mother and my home and all my friends, and NEVER come back again?"

"Why, no 'ndeed," interposed Mis' Molly wistfully, as she hovered
around her daughter, giving her hair or her gown a touch here and
there; "she'll be so homesick in a month that she'll be willin' to walk
home."

"You would n' never hafter do dat, Miss Rena," returned Frank, with a
disconsolate smile. "Ef you ever wanter come home, an' can't git back
no other way, jes' let ME know, an' I'll take my mule an' my kyart an'
fetch you back, ef it's from de een' er de worl'."

"Thank you, Frank, I believe you would," said the girl kindly. "You're
a true friend, Frank, and I'll not forget you while I'm gone."

The idea of her beautiful daughter riding home from the end of the
world with Frank, in a cart, behind a one-eyed mule, struck Mis' Molly
as the height of the ridiculous--she was in a state of excitement where
tears or laughter would have come with equal ease--and she turned away
to hide her merriment. Her daughter was going to live in a fine house,
and marry a rich man, and ride in her carriage. Of course a negro
would drive the carriage, but