brief pause of doubt ensued. It was
perfectly dark inside the door, and there was not a sound. The bench
where they had heretofore held their only communication with their
strange neighbor was lying on its side in the weeds which grew up to
the very walls of the ruinous cabin, and a lizard suddenly ran over it,
and with a little rustle disappeared under the rotting ground-sill. To
the woman it was an ill omen. She glanced furtively behind her, and
moved nearer her husband's side. She noticed that the cloud above the
pines was getting a faint yellow tinge on its lower border, while it
was very black above them. It filled her with dread, and she was about
to call her husband's notice to it, when a voice within arrested their
attention. It was very low, and they both listened in awed silence,
watching the door meanwhile as if they expected to see something
supernatural spring from it.

"Nem min'--jes wait--'tain so long now--he'll be heah torectly," said
the voice. "Dat's what he say--gwine come an' buy me back--den we gwine
home."

In their endeavor to catch the words they moved nearer, and made a
slight noise. Suddenly the low, earnest tone changed to one full of
eagerness.

"Who dat?" was called in sharp inquiry.

"'Tain' nobody but me an' Polly, Ole 'Stracted," said Ephraim, pushing
the door slightly wider open and stepping in. They had an indistinct
idea that the poor deluded creature had fancied them his longed-for
loved ones, yet it was a relief to see him bodily.

"Who you say you is?" inquired the old man, feebly.

"Me an' Polly."

"I done bring you shut home," said the woman, as if supplementing her
husband's reply. "Hit all bran' clean, an' I done patch it."

"Oh, I thought--" said the voice, sadly.

They knew what he thought. Their eyes were now accustomed to the
darkness, and they saw that the only article of furniture which the
room contained was the wretched bed or bench on which the old man was
stretched. The light sifting through the chinks in the roof enabled
them to see his face, and that it had changed much in the last
twenty-four hours, and an instinct told them that he was near the end
of his long waiting.

"How is you, Ole 'Stracted?" asked the woman.

"Dat ain' my name," answered the old man, promptly. It was the first
time he had ever disowned the name.

"Well, how is you, Ole--What I gwine to call you?" asked she, with
feeble finesse.

"I don' know--he kin tell you."

"Who?"