and "do for him" until he found suitable servants.

"To think of his having known Philip," said Mima with shining eyes as
they entered the new cottage, and somehow it looked pleasanter,
brighter and less mean to her than it had ever before.

"Now s'posin' you'd 'a' run off widout seein' him, whaih would you
been den? You wouldn' nevah knowed whut you knows."

"You're right, Mammy Peggy, and I'm glad I stayed and faced him, for
it doesn't seem now as if a stranger had the house, and it has given
me a great pleasure. It seemed like having Phil back again to have him
talked about so by one who lived so near to him."

"I tell you, chile," mammy supplemented in an oracular tone, "de right
kin' o' pride allus pays." Mima laughed heartily. The old woman
looked at her bright face. Then she put her big hand on the girl's
small one. It was trembling. She shook her head. Mima blushed.

Bartley went out and sat on the veranda a long time after they were
gone. He took in the great expanse of lawn about the house, and the
dark background of the pines in the woods beyond. He thought of the
conditions through which the place had become his, and the thought
saddened him, even in the first glow of the joy of possession. Then
his mind went on to the old friend who was sleeping his last sleep
back there on the sun-bathed hill. His recollection went fondly over
the days of their comradeship in Venice, and colored them anew with
glory.

"These Southerners," he mused aloud, "cannot understand that we