One morning after the journey below had been accomplished, while she lay resting from the difficult ascent of the stairs, a low purr of muffled noises flowed through the hallways, and the front door was opened and closed. Then a white cloth was hung on the vine by the door and the steps receded and became the uncertain tread of her aunt on the pavement beside the house wall. The hour was long and sunny, undefined, mingled now with some anticipated event which pointed to the white cloth that hung by the pillar. Later a yellow truck came up under the elms, fitting its wheels to the ruts, and the words, PERKINS’ LINIMENTS, grew, boldly defined, on the yellow sides of the car which backed about at the door. Leaning on her elbow she took a gayety from the yellow of the wagon and the bold design of the printed words and from the brisk man who sold packages to her aunt with a clatter of good-will and gossip. Tea in packages, coffee, sugar—the best cane—and did she need any spices this trip? Liniment, salve, mange cure, soap, oil, baking powders, ointment, camphor, ginger, orris root, sal hepatica, lice eradicator—for hens, cures mites, chiggers. Any extracts? flavors? perfumery? cake color? ice-cream powders? sage? “The coffee and sugar is all.” “A sight of rain over in the creek country. Water outen bounds.” “Anybody drowned?” “Nobody drowned, but a heap of swollen branches and some stock washed off. Old Man Tumey’s chickens, and Lige Smith lost a calf. They say prices are a-goen high this time, money for everybody. Corn sold this week for around two dollars. Old Miss Bee Beach is right sick, they say. Bound to die, I reckon.” He shouted his words before the house and his rough voice struck the corners of the room above and quickened life where it had declined in her breast. His steps were rough and strong on the gravel of the roadway. When the purchase had been made he ran quickly through his list again and closed the rear door of the truck with a crash. Then he swept off his hat to mop his head with a dim handkerchief of some yellowed silk, sponging his face and neck. He plunged the handkerchief inside his collar-band, and he stretched his legs and his back, a tall man with a dark vigor about him. Theodosia leaned on her arm to watch him, amused at the painted words on the car, the long rheumatic letters that spelled the liniment to the afflicted of the county. His vigor reached her where she lay crumpled under the bed clothing, and she had a quick vision of herself, arisen, going about her ways of life. She watched every gesture as he climbed into the car and set it in motion, she concentrated to his burning darkness, her throat dilated in response to the unaccustomed man’s voice. When he was gone she sank weakly back to the bed and presently she made the minute journey to the roadside gate, step by step, negotiating intricately with the roadside birds and grasses.