“I'm not Miss Miranda Dows,” said the vision with a frankness that was half childlike and half practical, as she extended a little hand, “but I can talk 'fahm' with yo' about as well as aunty, and I reckon from what Major Reed says heah,” holding up the letter between her fingers, “as long as yo' get the persimmons yo' don't mind what kind o' pole yo' knock 'em down with.” The voice that carried this speech was so fresh, clear, and sweet that I am afraid Courtland thought little of its bluntness or its conventional transgressions. But it brought him his own tongue quite unemotionally and quietly. “I don't know what was in that note, Miss Dows, but I can hardly believe that Major Reed ever put my present felicity quite in that way.” Miss Sally laughed. Then with a charming exaggeration she waved her little hand towards the sofa. “There! Yo' naturally wanted a little room for that, co'nnle, but now that yo' 've got it off,--and mighty pooty it was, too,--yo' can sit down.” And with that she sank down at one end of the sofa, prettily drew aside a white billow of skirt so as to leave ample room for Courtland at the other, and clasping her fingers over her knees, looked demurely expectant. “But let me hope that I am not disturbing you unseasonably,” said Courtland, catching sight of the fateful little slipper beneath her skirt, and remembering the window. “I was so preoccupied in thinking of your aunt as the business manager of these estates that I quite forget that she might have a lady's hours for receiving.” “We haven't got any company hours,” said Miss Sally, “and we haven't just now any servants for company manners, for we're short-handed in the fields and barns. When yo' came I was nailing up the laths for the vines outside, because we couldn't spare carpenters from the factory. But,” she added, with a faint accession of mischief in her voice, “yo' came to talk about the fahm?” “Yes,” said Courtland, rising, “but not to interrupt the work on it. Will you let me help you nail up the laths on the wall? I have some experience that way, and we can talk as we work. Do oblige me!” The young girl looked at him brightly. “Well, now, there's nothing mean about THAT. Yo' mean it for sure?” “Perfectly. I shall feel so much less as if I was enjoying your company under false pretenses.” “Yo' just wait here, then.” She jumped from the sofa, ran out of the room, and returned presently, tying the string of a long striped cotton blouse--evidently an extra one of Sophy's--behind her back as she returned. It was gathered under her oval chin by a tape also tied behind her, while her fair hair was tucked under the usual red bandana handkerchief of the negro housemaid. It is scarcely necessary to add that the effect was bewitching. “But,” said Miss Sally, eying her guest's smartly fitting frock-coat, “yo' 'll spoil yo'r pooty clothes, sure! Take off yo'r coat--don't mind me--and work in yo'r shirtsleeves.”