"Miss Nannie gib Marse Tom Boling her han' an' look up in his face like a queen, an' den she kissed Marse Henry, an' whispered somethin' in his ear dat nobody didn't hear, only de tears gin to jump out an' roll down his cheeks, an' den she looked de mist'ess full in de face, an' 'thout a word dropped her a low curtsey. "I come de las'. She looked at me for a minute wid her eyes a-swimmin', an' den she th'owed her arms roun' my neck an' hugged an' kissed me, an' den I see an arm slip 'roun' her wais' an' lif' her in de coach. Den de horses gin a plunge an' dey was off. "An 'arter dat dey had five years--de happiest years dem two ever seen. I know, 'cause Marse Henry gin me to her, an' I lived wid 'em day in an' day out till dat baby come, an' den"---- Aunt Chloe stopped and reached out her hand as if to steady herself. The tears were streaming down her cheeks. Then she advanced a step, fixed her eyes on the portrait, and in a voice broken with emotion, said:-- "Honey, chile,--honey, chile,--is you tired a-waitin' for yo' ole mammy? Keep a-watchin', honey--keep a-watchin'--It won't be long now 'fore I come. Keep a-watchin'." A WATERLOGGED TOWN He was backed up against the Column of the Lion, holding at bay a horde of gondoliers who were shrieking, "Gondola! Gondola!" as only Venetian gondoliers can. He had a half-defiant look, like a cornered stag, as he stood there protecting a small wizen-faced woman of an uncertain age, dressed in a long gray silk duster and pigeon-winged hat--one of those hats that looked as if the pigeon had alighted on it and exploded. "No, durn ye, I don't want no gon-_do_-la; I got one somewhere round here if I can find it." If his tall gaunt frame, black chin whisker, and clearly defined features had not located him instantly in my mind, his dialect would have done so. "You'll probably find your gondola at the next landing," I said, pointing to the steps. He looked at me kindly, took the woman by the arm, as if she had been under arrest, and marched her to the spot indicated. In another moment I felt a touch on my shoulder. "Neighbor, ain't you from the U.S.A.?" I nodded my head. "Shake! It's God's own land!" and he disappeared in the throng. The next morning I was taking my coffee in the café at the Britannia, when I caught a pair of black eyes peering over a cup, at a table opposite. Then six feet and an inch or two of raw untilled American rose in the air, picked up his plates, cup, and saucer, and, crossing the room, hooked out a chair with his left foot from my table, and sat down. "You're the painter feller that helped me out of a hole yesterday? Yes, I knowed it; I see you come in to dinner last night. Eliza-beth said it was you, but you was so almighty rigged up in that swallow-tailed coat of yourn I didn't catch on for a minute, but Eliza-beth said she was dead sure." "The lady with you--your wife?" [Illustration: "HER HEAD CRAMMED FULL OF HIFALUTIN' NOTIONS"]