after breakfast charles went out into the street. it was a clear day, and the mountains in the distance, the near-by green hills, the blue sky, appealed to him. his morbid mood of the night before was gone. life seemed to promise something to him that had not been within his reach since the hopeful days of his boyhood. he wondered if he was already becoming identified with a locality which he could regard as a permanent home. he smiled as he asked himself who would look for him here among these buried-alive people. how simple and quaint the farmers looked as they slowly moved about their produce-wagons in front of the stores of general merchandise! how amusing their drawling dialect as they priced their cotton, potatoes, chickens, and garden truck! the sign of sandow & lincoln's store hung across the sidewalk in front of him. he turned in there. a number of country women with their children stood along the counters on both sides of the narrow room, all being waited on by coatless clerks. a clerk approached charles.

"something to-day, sir?" he asked.

charles told him what he wanted, and the clerk nodded. "oh yes!" he said, "miss mary was talking about you just now. she said you might come in, but she wasn't at all sure. she is in the grocery department, next door. she said tell you to wait back in the rear, if you came. you will find a seat there. i'll tell her when she comes in. no, mrs. spriggs, we've quit handling nails." this to a gaunt young woman at his elbow, with a baby on her arm. "when the new hardware started up we agreed to go out of that line and sold 'em our stock. it is right across the street. you can't miss it."

charles went back to the rear of the long room and took one of the chairs. a country girl came with several pairs of shoes in her arms, and sat down near him to try them on. it amused him to note the way she pulled them on over her coarse stockings, and stood up on a piece of brown paper to prevent any scratching of the soles. finally she made a selection, and went back with all the shoes in her arms. there was a long table holding suits of clothing against the wall, and a young farmer came back and began to pull out some of the coats and examine them.

catching charles's glance, he smiled. "most of 'em moth-eaten," he said, dryly. "they've had 'em in stock ever since the war—mildewed till they smell as musty as rotting hay in a damp stack. show feller, eh?"

"i was," charles admitted.

"i heard the clerk talking about you just now," the man went on. "that was a good show, if i'm any judge. the best clown i think i ever saw. how any mortal man can think up funny things and fire 'em back as quick, first shot out of the box, as that feller did in answering questions beats me."

charles explained that both the questions and replies had been in use a long time, and the farmer stared in wonder.

"you don't mean it," he said. "that sorter spoils it, don't it? well, every man to his own line, i reckon."

he might have asked more questions, but miss rowland was approaching from the front. as he rose to his feet charles was quite unprepared for what he saw. he had pictured her as an elderly spinster, somewhat soured by work, misfortune, and family cares, but here was a graceful young girl hardly past eighteen, with a smiling, good-humored face that was quite pretty. she was slight and tall; she had small hands and feet, hazel eyes, and a splendid head of golden-brown hair.

"i think you are mr. brown," she began, smiling sweetly. "mr. sam lee said he would speak to you about what i want."

"he sent me here," charles answered. for the first time since his exile he was conscious of the return of his old social manner in the presence of a lady, and yet he knew there was much that was incongruous in it, dressed as he was in soiled and shabby clothing.

"i certainly am glad you came," she said, in that round, deep and musical voice which somehow held such charm for his ears. "i tell you i am sick and tired of trying to get help, and our cotton and corn are being choked to death by weeds. if you don't come i don't know what i'll do."

"i am perfectly willing," he half stammered, under the delectable thrall of her eyes and appealing mien of utter helplessness, "but i must be frank. i am ignorant of field work. my idea was to offer my help to some farmer who would be patient with me till i got the hang of it. of course, i could not expect wages till—till—"

"oh," she broke in, with a rippling laugh, "you wouldn't have any trouble in that respect! a child can cut out weeds with a hoe. i did it when i was a tiny thing. all you have to learn is the difference between corn and cotton and weeds. i can show you that in a minute. oh, if that is all, we can fix that!"

"that is the only thing i can think of," charles answered. "i am tired of the roving life i've been leading with the circus and i want to locate somewhere permanently."

"then we may as well talk about the—the wages," the girl said. "the price usually paid is two dollars a day for six days in the week, and board thrown in. how would that suit you?"

"i am only afraid i won't earn it—at first, anyway," charles said. "i think i'd better let you pay me according to what i am worth. money is really not my chief object. i only want a place to live. it happens that i am all alone in the world—no kin or close friends."

"oh," mary cried, softly, "that is sad—very, very sad. i sometimes think that all my troubles come from having so many dear ones to bother about, but it must be worse not to have any at all. what a strange life you must have been leading! and you—you"—she hesitated, and then went on, frankly—"you seem to be of a sensitive nature. and yet, from what i've always heard of showmen—"

seeing that she had paused, he prompted her. "you were saying—"

"more than i have any right to say on such a short acquaintance," she replied, coloring prettily, "but i'll finish. of course, we don't know about such things, but we have the impression that showmen are rough and uneducated; but you are quite the opposite."

"there are all classes among the workers about a circus," he said—"good, bad, and indifferent."

"well," she smiled, "let's get back to business. when can you come? we live five miles out, at the foot of the mountains, and any one can direct you to our plantation—i say 'plantation,' because it used to be styled that when we owned a lot of slaves and land. nowadays the slaves are all free and our land has been sold off, for one reason or another, till we have only a farm now."

"i can come any day," charles answered. "i have nothing to do and would rather be at work."

"well, then, suppose you come out in the morning," mary said. "i'm going right home, and i want to fix a place for you to sleep. we've got a rather roomy house, but it is not fully furnished. oh, you will find us odd enough! we used to have a lot of old furniture, but we got hard up a few years ago and sold it by the wagon-load to a dealer in antiques. we have some of the old things left, but very few. the man shipped the furniture to atlanta and sold it at a very high price. a funny thing happened about it. i was down there visiting a cousin of mine, and we went to a tea given by a wealthy woman—one of the sort, you know, that says 'i seen,' and 'had went.' well, you may imagine my surprise when i recognized our old mahogany side-board in her dining-room. she saw me looking at it, and set in and told me a long story about how it had come down to her through several generations on her mother's side. i was crazy to know how much she paid for it, to see how badly we were stuck by that dealer, but of course i kept my mouth shut."

charles laughed heartily, and it struck him with surprise, as he suddenly realized that it was almost the first genuine laugh he had enjoyed since he had left his home. then he became conscious of his incongruous appearance. he noticed the enormously heavy, unpolished boots he wore, with their thick leather and metal heel-taps. his nails were neglected, his hands as rough and calloused as a blacksmith's; he had not shaved for several days and his beard felt bristly and unclean. the shirt he wore was thick, coarse, and collarless; the trousers resembled the stained overalls of a plumber. he wondered that miss rowland should be treating him in such a cordial and even friendly manner, and he decided that it might be the way of the higher class in the south.

"well," she suddenly said, turning toward the entrance of the store, "i'm going to expect you."

"i promise you that i won't fail," he said, earnestly, fumbling his coarse cap in his hands.

"and i believe you mean it." she smiled that entrancing smile again and, to his surprise, she held out her hand. as he took it an indescribable sensation passed over him. it felt soft and warm and like some sentient, pulsing thing too delicate and helpless for the touch of the rough palm which now held it.

"many have fooled me, both white and black," she went on. "they swore they would come—even some of our old slaves—but didn't. however, i know i can count on you."

"you may be sure of it," he answered. "the obligation is on the other side. i want work badly and i am grateful to you for giving it to me."

"oh, i hope you will like it out there!" she said, thoughtfully, as she lingered, and with her words she dropped her eyes for the first time. "we have our troubles and you will be sure to notice them. i have two brothers, kenneth and martin, both older than i am, and i may as well tell you that they are somewhat wild and reckless. i never know where they are half the time. yes, they are bad—they are my dear brothers and i love them with all my heart, but they are bad. they drink; they play poker; they are always in fights. it was to get kenneth out of trouble, to pay his lawyer and the fines, that we sold some of our best land. he wasn't altogether to blame, i'll say that; but he is quick-tempered and never could control himself. martin is getting to be like him. he imitates kenneth in everything. it all rests on me, too. my father is as easy-going as an old shoe and doesn't care much what happens. you will find him odd, i reckon. he has only one hand; he can't work, and so he is always at his books. he is writing a history of the rowlands. he spends all our spare change for stamps to write to people of that name whenever he happens to hear of one. it is a fearful waste of time and energy, but it amuses him and i can't object. well, i am going now. i'll count on you, sure."

"you may be sure i'll come," charles repeated. he had the feeling that he ought to accompany her to the door, but at once realized that the instinct to do so came from the past in which he had the social right to consider himself on an equality with any lady. he sat down in his chair and watched her as she moved through the motley throng of country people in the store. how different she seemed from them all! then an indescribable sense of dissatisfaction came over him. why, he was to be her servant, nothing more nor less, and the freedom she had shown meant nothing. yet surely it wasn't so bad as that, after all. she had said that he seemed to have a sensitive nature and that he struck her as being an educated man. yes, she had said those things, and he was sure that the memory of them would never leave him. he was glad that he had parted company with mason, as much as he liked him, for he wanted to hug this new adventure close to his own individual breast. she had her troubles, and was bravely bearing them. he would never complain again over his lot. he went through the store and out onto the street. there was something in the very atmosphere that seemed to shower down content and joy upon him. he spent the remainder of the day wandering about the old town, almost as one in a delightful dream. he was almost superstitious enough to think that some guiding angel in an invisible world had led him to this spot. ruth, celeste, william—they might remain out of his life forever. he had passed through a terrible travail to attain this new birth, but the whole ordeal was worth it. he told himself that no vastly good thing ever came till the price was paid, and he had paid long and well for this. work? he laughed. he could work till he fell in exhaustion in such a cause. then he laughed again.

"why, she is only a girl!" he said. "am i a fool? after all these years of common sense am i losing my mind? now what is there about her that does not belong to the average woman?"

he did not attempt to fathom the mystery. he only knew that he was already itching with the desire to see her again. he wanted to serve her. she was a merry child and a thoughtful woman deliciously compounded. the lights of joy and the shadows of trouble seemed alternately to flit over her wondrous being. she had troubles, and so had he. he was almost glad that it was so, for he would kill his own in fighting hers. her round, mellow accent sounded in his ears like dream music. the touch of her delicate hand remained, and thrilled him through and through.