higher-toned ones with straw bonnets--a few younger ones with hats,
while the men and boys were all in their shirt sleeves. Some of them had
come miles that hot day to pay their last respects to Miss Dory, who,
in the room adjoining where they sat, lay in her coffin, clad, as Jake
had said, in her best gown, the white one she had worn with so much
pride the day the stranger came. She had never worn it since, but had
said to Mandy Ann a few days before she died, "I should like to be
buried in it, if you can smarten it up." And Mandy Ann who understood,
had done her best at smartening, and when Sonsie and others said it was
"yaller as saffern, an' not fittin' for a buryin'," she had washed and
ironed it, roughly, it is true, but it was white and clean, and Sonsie
was satisfied. Mandy Ann had tried to freshen the satin bows, but gave
it up, and put in their place bunches of wild flowers she had gathered
herself. With a part of the dollar given her by "the man from the Norf,"
she had commissioned Ted to buy her a ring in Jacksonville. It had
proved too small for any finger, except her little one, and she had
seldom worn it. Now, as she dressed her mistress for the last time an
idea came to her; she was a well-grown girl of sixteen, and understood
many things better than when she was younger. Going to Jake, she said,
"Ain't thar somethin' 'bout a ring in that pra'r book you got in
Richmon' an' reads on Sundays?"

"Yes, in de weddin' service," Jake replied, and Mandy continued: "Doan'
it show dey's married for shoo'!"

"For shoo? Yes. I wish Miss Dory had one," Jake answered.

Mandy Ann nodded. She had learned what she wanted to know, and going to
the little paper box where she kept her ring she took it up, looked at
it lovingly, and tried it on. She had paid fifty cents for it, and Ted