Unanswered questions were always an abomination to Mandy, so finally she drew a quarter from the knotted gingham rag that held her small wad of savings, and told Hasty “to go long to de show and find out 'bout Miss Polly.” She was anxiously waiting for him, when Deacon Strong knocked at the door for the second time that afternoon. “Is Mr. Douglas back yet?' he asked. “No, sah, he ain't,” said Mandy, very shortly. She felt that Strong and Elverson had been “a-tryin' to spy on de parson all day,” and she resented their visits more than she usually did. “What time are you expectin' him?” “I don't nebber spec' Massa Douglas till I sees him.” Strong grunted uncivilly, and went down the steps. She saw from the window that he met Elverson in front of the church. “Dey sure am a-meanin' trouble,” she mumbled. The band had stopped playing; the last of the audience had straggled down the street. She opened the door and stood on the porch; the house seemed to suffocate her. What was keeping Hasty? He came at last, but Mandy could tell from his gait that he brought unwelcome news. “Ain't she dar?” “She's wid 'em, all right,” said Hasty. “Yuh seed her?” “Naw, I didn't done SEED her.” “What?” “She want in de show.” “What you jes' tell me?” “She's a-trabbelin' wid 'em, Mandy, but she didn't done ride.” “See heah, Hasty Jones, is dat ere chile sick?” “I don' rightly know,” said Hasty. “A great big man, what wored clothes like a gemmen, comed out wid a whip in his hand and says as how he's 'bliged to 'nounce anudder gal in Miss Polly's place. An' den he says as how de udder gal was jes' as good, an' den everybody look disappinted like, an' den out comes de udder gal on a hoss an' do tricks, an' I ain't heard no more 'bout Miss Polly.” “Why didn't you done ask somebody?” “Warn't nobody ter ask but de man what wuz hurryin' ever'body to get out of de tent. I done ast him, but he say as 'didn't I git ma money's worth?' an' den ebberbody laugh, an' he shove me 'long wid de rest of de folks, an' here I is.” “She's sick, dat's what _I_ says,” Mandy declared, excitedly; “an' somebody's got to do somethin'!” “I done all I knowed,” drawled Hasty, fearing that Mandy was regretting her twenty-five-cent investment. “Go 'long out an' fix up dat ere kitchen fire,” was Mandy's impatient reply. “I got to keep dem vittels warm fer Massa John.” She wished to be alone, so that she could think of some way to get hold of Polly. “Dat baby-faced mornin'-glory done got Mandy all wobbly 'bout de heart,” she declared to herself, as she crossed to the window for a sight of the pastor.