From all directions, out of the darkness, came belated members of the officiating fraternity, protecting their regalias under umbrellas, and accompanied by wives and families if married, or by lady and other friends if otherwise. With his sword clanking impressively at his flank and his beplumed helmet nodding grandly as he walked, each Supreme King of the Universe bore himself with an austere and solemn mien, as befitting the rôle he played--of host to the multitude--and the uniform that adorned his form. Later, after the young year had appropriately been ushered in, when the refreshments were being served, he might unbend somewhat. But not now. Now every Supreme King was what he was, wearing his dignity as a becoming and suitable garment. This attitude of the affiliated brethren affected by contagion those who came with them as their guests. There was a stateliness and a formality in the greetings which passed between this one and that one as the groups converged into the doorway, set in the middle front of the building, and by pairs and by squads ascended the stairs. “Good evenin', Sist' Fontleroy. I trusts things is goin' toler'ble well wid you, ma'am?” “Satisfactory, Br'er Grider--thank de good Lawd! How's all at yore own place of residence?” “Git th'ough de C'ris'mus all right, Mizz Hillman?” “Yas, suh; 'bout de same ez whut I always does, Mist' Duiguid.” “Well, ole yeah's purty nigh gone frum us, Elder; ain't it de truth?” “Most doubtless is. An' now yere come 'nother! We don't git no younger, sister, does we?” “Dat we don't, sholy!” The ceremonial reserve of the moment would make the jollifying all the sweeter after the clocks struck and the whistles began to blow. There was one late arrival, though, who came along alone, wearing a downcast countenance and an air of abstraction, and speaking to none who encountered him on the way or at the portal. This one was Jeff Poindexter; but a vastly different Jeff from the customary Jeff. Usually he moved with a jaunty gait, his elbows out and his head canted back; and on the slightest provocation his feet cut scallops and double-shuffles and pigeonwings against the earth. Now his heels scraped and his toes dragged; and the gladsome raiment that covered his person gave him no joy, but only an added sense of resentment against the prevalent scheme of mundane existence. An unseen weight bowed his shoulders down, and beneath the wide lapels of an almost white waistcoat his heart was like unto a chunk of tombstone in his bosom. For the current light of his eyes, Miss Ophelia Stubblefield, had accepted the company of a new and most formidable rival for this festive occasion. Wherefore an embodiment of sorrow walked hand in hand with Jeff.