an' I'm shu' ole Miss Lucy was fust class, 'case
Miss Dory was a lady bawn."

"Are there no papers anywhere to tell us who they were?" Jack asked, and
Jake replied, "Thar's papers in de little har trunk whar I keeps de
writin' book Miss Dory used, an' de book she read in to learn, but dem's
no 'count. Some receipts an' bills an' some letters ole Mas'r Harris
writ to Miss Lucy 'fo' they was married,--love letters, in course, which
I seen Miss Dory tie up wid a white ribbon. I've never opened dem, 'case
it didn't seem fittin' like to read what a boy writ to a gal."

"Why, Jake," Jack exclaimed, "don't you see those letters may tell us
where Miss Lucy lived in Georgia? and that is probably where Miss Dory
visited. Bring us the trunk."

"'Clar for't. I never thought of that," Jake said, rising with alacrity
and going into the room where he slept.

Mr. Mason, too, stepped out for a few moments, leaving Eloise alone with
Jack. Now was her time, and, going up to him, she said, "Jack, I want to
tell you now, you mustn't marry me!"

"Mustn't marry you!" Jack repeated. "Are you crazy?"

"Not yet," Eloise answered with a sob, "but I may be in time, or queer,
like all the Harrises,--mother and her mother and 'old Miss.' We are all
Harrises, and,--and,--oh, Jack, I know what a Cracker is now; mother is
one; I am one, and it is all so dreadful; and mother nobody, perhaps. I
can't bear it, and you must not marry me."

"I shall marry you," Jack said, folding her in his arms. "Do you think I
care who your family are, or how queer they are? You'll never be queer.
I'll shield you so carefully from every care that you can't even spell
the word."

He took her hands and made her look at him, while he kissed her lips
and said, "It is you I want, with all the Harrises and Crackers in
Christendom thrown in, if necessary. Are you satisfied?"

He knew she was, and was kissing her again when Jake appeared with the
trunk, which he said had held Miss Dory's clothes when she went to
Georgia. There was a musty odor about it when he opened it, and the few
papers inside were yellow with age.

"Dis yer is de reader Miss Dory use' to go over so much," Jake said,
handing the book to Eloise, who turned its worn pages reverently, as if
touching the hands of the dead girl, who, Jake said, "had rassled with
the big words an' de no 'count pieces. She liked de po'try, an' got by
heart 'bout de boy on de burnin' deck, but de breakin' waves floo'd her,