"Laws, Miss Alice, do see them yere calikers--they're sruperb! Look at that red one with the blue flowers--'tain't so handsome though, as this with the yaller. My! my! thar's a jewerlly shop across the way. Yer fadder ought to take yer in dar', fust place. Young gals likes them places. Laws, darlin', dis don't compare wid New York City. Le's have a drink of water, and step over de street." All this volubility was to screen the young girl from scrutiny. A pitcher of water stood on the counter, near her, and she poured a glass for her mistress. But Alice waved the glass away, and arose without any signs of grief and pain in her face; but the expression had changed--an icy pride composed every feature; she asked the merchant to show her some of his goods in a clear, low tone as sweet as it was passionless. Her hand did not tremble as she turned over silks and laces. "Good for her! She's got her father's grit," thought the raftsman to himself, while his own throat swelled almost to choking with anger and grief, and he felt that if he only had Philip Moore within sight he would have the satisfaction of thrashing a little conscience into him. Neither he nor Alice any longer doubted the statements of Ben Perkins. Mr. Moore _had_ ridiculed them--_had_ mockingly given another permission to console her whom he had forsaken--_had_ said that he was going East to marry a more fit companion. As the raftsman looked in the quiet face of his child which repelled sympathy with a woman's pride--that pride so terrible because it covers such tortured sensibilities--his blood boiled up with ungovernable rage. He was not accustomed to concealing his sentiments upon any subject. "Let them finnified fixin's alone, Alice," he said, taking her hand and drawing her away. "Men that make it a business to handle that sort of thing, grow about as flimsy as their wares. I despise 'em. I want you to understand, Mr. Raymond, that all connection between me and this firm, business or other, is dissolved. I won't even take your cussed money. When Mr. Moore returns, tell him that the laws of hospitality practised by your four-story-bricks ain't known in squatters' cabins, and if he ever comes on my premises again I'll consider myself at liberty to shoot him down for a dog;" and before the surprised merchant could reply he had strode forth. "Come 'long, Saturn! don' stan' dar' starin'; don't yer see masser's gone? I shall be sorry I brought yer 'long ef yer don't behabe wid more propisciousness. What der s'pose folks 'll tink your missus and masser is, ef you don't act like a fust-family nigger? Ef yer don't do credit to Miss Alice, I'll nebber bring you 'way from home agin;" and Pallas took "her nigger" by the elbow and drew him away from the fascinating array of dry-goods and ready-made clothing.