“Did you th’ow out a hint ’bout me buyin’ mo’ lan’?” “Why, co’se I wa’n’t go’n’ to leave dat paht out.” “Well, den, what did she say?” “She smiled ag’in.” “Huh! she mus’ be a gone smiler. ’Pears to me, ’Lonzo, ’bout time she _sayin’_ somep’n’.” “Oh, she smile ’cause she kin do dat so purty, dat’s de reason she smile.” “Uh huh! Well, go ’long, I mus’ be gittin’ home.” Alonzo Taft smiled complacently as he passed on. “Yes,” he said to himself, “it’ll soon be time fu’ Mistah Dunkin to come in an’ tek mattahs in his own han’s. It’ll soon be time.” He had lost all scruples at his course, and ceased self-questioning. Mr. Dunkin gave no sign of perturbation of mind as he walked down the street to his cottage. He walked neither faster nor slower than he had gone before seeing Martha Madison. But when he sank down into the depths of his arm-chair in the privacy of his own apartment, he said: “Miss Marfy say dat while I delibe’atin’ Mistah Taf’ walk off wif de lady. Huh uh! Well, I jes’ delibe’ate a little mo’ while I’s a-changin’ my clothes.” Who shall tell of the charms which Miss Callena displayed that night,—how her teeth gleamed and her eyes sparkled and her voice was alternately merry or melting? It is small wonder that the heart of Alonzo Taft throbbed, and that words of love rushed to his lips and burst into speech. But even then some lingering sense of loyalty made his expressions vague and ambiguous. There was the sea before him, but he hated, nay, feared to plunge in. Miss Callena watched him as he dallied upon the shore of an open declaration, and admired a timidity so rare in a man of Taft’s attainments. “I know you boun’ to look down on me, Miss Callena,” he said, with subdued ardour, “’cause I’m a ign’ant man. I ain’t had no ejication nor no schoolin’. I’m jes’ a se’f-made man. All I know I’ve lunned f’om de white folks I’ve wo’ked fu’.” “It isn’t always education that makes the man, Mr. Taft,” said the school-teacher, encouragingly. “I’ve seen a great many men in my life who had all the education and schooling that heart could wish, but when that was said, all was said. They hadn’t anything here.” She pressed her hand feelingly and impressively upon her heart. “It’s the noble heart, after all, that makes the real man.” Mr. Taft also pressed his hand against his heart and sighed. They were both so absorbed that neither of them saw the shadow that fell on the floor from a form that stood in the doorway. “As for being self-made,” Miss Callena went on, “why, Mr. Taft, what can be nobler or better for a man to know than that all he has he has got by his own efforts?” The shadow disappeared, and the form receded from the doorway as the suitor was saying: “I tek no credit to myse’f fu’ what I’ve got, neither in sense or money. But I am glad to say dat I wo’ked fu’ everything myse’f.” “You have reason to be proud of such a fact.”