That day was one of the hottest of the season, and the sun was beating down upon the piazza of the Brock House where the Rev. Charles Mason sat fanning himself with a huge palm leaf, and trying to put together in his mind some points for the sermon he was to preach the next Sunday in the parlor of the hotel to the few guests who came there occasionally during the summer. But it was of no use. With the thermometer at ninety degrees in the shade, and not a breath of air moving, except that made by his fan, points did not come readily, and all he could think of was Dives' thirsting for a drop of water from the finger of Lazarus to cool his parched tongue. "If it was hotter there than it is here I am sorry for him," he thought, wiping his wet face and looking off across the broad lake in the direction of Sanford, from which a rowboat was coming very rapidly, the oarsman bending to his work with a will, which soon brought him to the landing place, near the hotel. Securing his boat, he came up the walk and approaching Mr. Mason accosted him with, "How d'ye, Mas'r Mason. I knows you by sight, and I'se right glad to find you hyar. You see, I'se that tuckered out I'm fit to drap." The perspiration was standing in great drops on his face as he sank panting upon a step of the piazza. "'Scuse me," he said, "but 'pears like I can't stan' another minit, what with bein' up all night with Miss Dory, an' gwine 'crost the lake twiste for nothin', 'case I didn't find him." By this time Mr. Mason had recognized the negro as one he had seen occasionally around the hotel selling vegetables and eggs, and who he had heard the people say was worth his weight in gold. "How d'ye, Jake," he said, pleasantly. "I didn't know you at first. Why have you been across the lake twice this morning?" Jake's face clouded as he drew his big black hand across his eyes. "Miss Dory done died at sun up," he replied. "You know Miss Dory, in course." Mr. Mason was obliged to confess his ignorance with regard to Miss Dory, and asked who she was. Jake looked disgusted. Not to know Miss Dory was something inexcusable. "Why, she's Miss Dory," he said, "an' ole Miss is her granny. We live up in the palmetto clearing, back in de woods, an' I take keer of 'em." "You mean you belong to Miss Dora's grandmother?" Mr. Mason asked, while Jake looked more disgusted than ever. Not to know Miss Dory was bad enough, but not to know who he was was much worse.