"Thank you, Uncle Mono, I can never forget you. Did you ever play base-ball, Mono?" said Reynolds. "Nah, sah, do'n know nuffin' 'bout dat," answered the old man, shaking his head and executing some ludicrous grimaces. "I nebber plays nuffin' 'cep'n' de fiddle an' de banjer, an' I'se gettin' so ole an' 'flicted dat I can't play dem to no good. Old Mono mos' run he ye'thly co'se, boss." "You're not springy and active, then, Mono. You've lost the use of yourself pretty nearly, I suppose?" "Dat's it, boss, dat's it. Ole man all cripple up wid 'fliction an' ole age. No 'count any mo'. He done los' all he sperit." "Well, Mono," said Reynolds very gravely, taking some pieces of money from his pocket, "if you'll catch this dollar when I throw it to you, I'll give you another." Mono prepared to use his hat. "No, no," exclaimed Reynolds, laughing, "I'll not have that! Put down your hat and use your hands. Now, here it comes." No cat, leaping out of the summer grass to catch a low-flying sparrow, ever displayed more nimbleness and adroitness than did old Mono in catching that dollar. It fell upon his dusky palm with a clear slap and immediately found its way into his trowsers pocket. "Yah, yah, yah! let de oder 'n come, boss, I's ready for 'm!" shouted the old fellow in great delight. "You're an intolerable fraud, Mono," said Reynolds, tossing him another dollar, "your afflictions are of the kind the good people sing about, that 'are oft in mercy sent;' a few more of the same sort would make a famous acrobat of you." "Fanky, boss, fanky; tole yo' dat yo' wus a rus'ler, did'n' I? Goo'by, boss, 'cessful journey to yo', sah." "Good-by, Mono, we'll go a fishing when I come back," Reynolds called after him, as he rapidly retreated. "All right, boss, I go wid yo'. I show yo' wha' dey is, sho's yo' bo'n. Goo'by!" The morning breeze was singing in the vines that clothed the heavy columns of the tall veranda, and its gentle current tossed some loose tresses across Mrs. Ransom's happy face. It was time for Reynolds to be on his road, but he faltered whenever he undertook to say the word of parting. Yet a minute or two, he would think: I will make up for the lost time when I get started. She had never appeared so beautiful as now, never so happy, never so loving. "Walk down to the gate with me," he presently said: "it will give me a happy send-off on my journey, to look back and see you standing there watching me as I am going out of sight among the shadows of the wood." They spent a long time passing over the space between the veranda and the gate. Here they paused to dally beside a bed of hyacinth or there to note how wonderfully large the violets were. A touch of childishness, or thoughtlessness (or was it that artlessness which comes of complete self-forgetfulness?) made their actions amusingly interesting to Mrs. DeKay, who watched them from the window.