But Mr. Joseph Scott had already entered the room. He was a person of sinuous, snake-like presence, and seemed capable of shedding his complete attire by means of one deft wriggle. His neck rose from a turn-down celluloid collar, after the fashion of the neck of “Alice in Wonderland,” after she had partaken of the cake which caused her to exclaim, “Curiouser, and curiouser!” His long locks, of a vague, smoky tint, exuded an unsavory smell of (I am ashamed to say) rancid pomatum. He wore a threadbare summer overcoat, though in his case the “over” was a decided misnomer, as there was nothing under it but an unbleached cotton shirt, and a sporting vest which had evidently belonged to some Briton. His necktie would have put an October forest to the blush. His mud-colored trousers were pulled down outside of his great cowhide boots, which presented their very apparent tops in a ridgy circle beneath the stuff of his trousers. A strangling sense of loathing and revolt rose in Virginia’s throat. She felt as though she would indeed suffocate beneath that terrible combination of smell and vulgarity. She leaned far out of the window, and spoke to him without turning her head. “Mornin’,” she said, curtly. “P’r’aps you heard me tell father I was sick.” “Lor’! air you?” said Mr. Scott. “I cert’n’y am sawry. Here’s them jorhnny-jump-ups I hearn you seh ez how you wanted.” “Thank you,” said Virginia, in a stifled voice. She still leaned out of the window, and the conversation flagged. “Larse night,” suddenly announced Mr. Scott, with spasmodic assertiveness, “Larse night a peeg-horg came down th’ mounting and gneawed all pa’s corn orf.” “He must ’a’ had a mighty leetle crop,” said Virginia from without the window. Her voice came back into the room softened by the purring air without. “I’m tawkin’ ’bout gyarden corn,” said Mr. Scott, failing to appreciate the sarcasm. Again a silence. The mastiff pup, diverted by the arrival of the new-comer, went sniffing about his redolent person. “Ef he was a fox,” thought Virginia, dryly, “’twouldn’t take no houn’s ter foller his scent. I could track him a week arter-wards myself.” Out aloud she said, “Air them roots or flowers you brought me?” “Both,” said Mr. Scott. Another pause. “The tarryfied fever’s a-ragin’ up ter Annesville,” he announced, presently. Virginia faced about for the first time. “Is it?” she asked. “Who’s down?” “Nigh all o’ them Davises. The doctor says as how it’s ’count o’ their makin’ fertilizer in their cellar.” [Illustration: “HE MUST ’A’ HAD A MIGHTY LEETLE CROP.”] “What?” said Virginia. He repeated his assertion. “Ef that’s true,” she said, slowly, “I ain’ goin’ to bother my head ’bout ’em; such fools oughter die.” (Be that as it may, she “bothered” herself enough to tramp on foot all the way to Annesville, some eight miles, that very afternoon, and offer her services as sick-nurse. The house fortunately was under quarantine, and there was assistance enough.)