The air was full of exhilaration; everybody was laughing and shouting and
calling greetings; for Carlow County was turning out, and from far and
near the country people came; nay, from over the county line, clouds of
dust rising from every thoroughfare and highway, and sweeping into town to
herald their coming.

Dibb Zane, the "sprinkling contractor," had been at work with the town
water-cart since the morning stars were bright, but he might as well have
watered the streets with his tears, which, indeed, when the farmers began
to come in, bringing their cyclones of dust, he drew nigh unto, after a
spell of profanity as futile as his cart.

"Tief wie das Meer soll deine Liebe sein,"

hummed the editor in the cottage. His song had taken on a reflective tone
as that of one who cons a problem, or musically ponders which card to
play. He was kneeling before an old trunk in his bedchamber. From one
compartment he took a neatly folded pair of duck trousers and a light-gray
tweed coat; from another, a straw hat with a ribbon of bright colors. They
had lain in the trunk a long time undisturbed; and he examined them
musingly. He shook the coat and brushed it; then he laid the garments upon
his bed, and proceeded to shave himself carefully, after which he donned
the white trousers, the gray coat, and, rummaging in the trunk again,
found a gay pink cravat, which he fastened about his tall collar (also a
resurrection from the trunk) with a pearl pin. After that he had a long,
solemn time arranging his hair with a pair of brushes. When at last he was
suited, and his dressing completed, he sallied forth to breakfast.

Xenophon stared after him as he went out of the gate whistling heartily.
The old darky lifted his hands, palms outward.