heart; and for the first time in his life turned to look at his
reflection in the small, cracked mirror hanging above the washstand in
his stepmother's room.

As a finishing touch Marthy Burr tied a flaming plaid cravat beneath his
collar.

"You ain't much on looks," she remarked as she drew back to survey him,
"but you've got as peart a face as I ever seed. I reckon you'll be
plenty handsome for a man. I was al'ays kind of set against one of these
pink an' white men, somehow. They're pretty enough to look at when
you're feelin' first-rate, but when you git the neuralgy they sort of
turns yo' stomach. I've a taste for sober colours in men and caliky."

"I think he looks beautiful," said Sairy Jane, her eyes on the cravat,
and Nicholas felt a sudden glow of gratitude, and silently resolved to
save up until he had enough money to buy her a hair ribbon.

"I ain't sayin' he don't," returned Marthy Burr with a severe glance in
the direction of her eldest daughter, who was minding Jubal in the
kitchen doorway. "Thar's red heads an' red heads, an' his ain't no
redder than the reddest. But he came honestly by it, which is more than
some folks can say as is got yellow. His father had it befo' him, an'
thar's one good thing about it, you've got to be born with it or you
ain't goin' to come by it no other way. I never seed a dyer that could
set hair that thar colour 'cep'n the Lord Himself--an' I ain't one to
deny that the Lord has got good taste in His own line."

Then, as Nicholas took up his hat, she added: "If they ask after me,
Nick, be sure an' say I'm jes' po'ly."