“I thought so!” cried Mrs. Hollis, looking over his shoulder.  “There comes the Nelson phaeton this minute!  Melvy, get on your white apron.  I’ll wind up the cuckoo-clock and unlock the parlor door.”

“Who is it?” ventured Sandy, with internal tremors.

“Hit’s Mrs. Nelson an’ her niece, Miss Rufe,” said Aunt Melvy, nervously trying to reverse her apron after tying the bow in the front.  “Dey’s big bugs, dey is.  Dey is quality, an’ no mistake.  I b’longed to Miss Rufe’s grandpaw; he done lef’ her all his money, she an’ Mr. Carter.  Poor Mr. Carter!  Dey say he ain’t got no lungs to speak of.  Ain’t no wonder he’s sorter wild like.  He takes after his grandpaw, my ole mars’.  Lor’, honey, de mint-juleps jus’ nachelly ooze outen de pores ob his grandpaw’s skin!  But Miss Rufe she ain’t like none ob dem Nelsons; she favors her maw.  She’s quality inside an’ out.”

A peal of the bell cut short further interesting revelations.  Aunt Melvy hurried through the hall, leaving doors open behind her.  At the front door she paused in dismay.  Before her stood the Nelsons in calling attire, presenting two immaculate cards for her acceptance.  Too late she remembered her instructions.

“’Fore de Lawd!” she cried in consternation, “ef I ain’t done fergit dat pan ag’in!”

Sandy, left alone in the dining-room, was listening with every nerve a-quiver for the sound of Ruth’s voice.  The thought that she was here under the same roof with him sent the blood bounding through his veins.  He pulled himself up, and trailing the blanket behind him, made his way somewhat unsteadily across the room and up the back stairs.

Behind the door of his room hung the pride of his soul, a new suit of clothes, whole, patchless, clean, which the judge had bought him two days before.  He had sat before it in speechless admiration; he had hung it in every possible light to get the full benefit of its beauty; he had even in the night placed it on a chair beside the bed, so that he could put out his hand in the dark and make sure it was there.  For it was the first new suit of clothes that he remembered ever to have possessed.  He had not intended to wear it until Sunday, but the psychological moment had arrived.

With trembling fingers and many pauses for rest, he made his toilet.  He looked in the mirror, and his heart nearly burst with pride.  The suit, to be sure, hung limp on his gaunt frame, and his shaven head gave him the appearance of a shorn lamb, but to Sandy the reflection was eminently satisfying.  One thing only seemed to be lacking.  He meditated a moment, then, with some misgiving, picked up a small linen doily from the dresser, and carefully folding it, placed it in his breast-pocket, with one corner just visible.

Triumphant in mind, if weak in body, he slipped down the back steps, skirted Aunt Melvy’s domain, and turned the corner of the house just as the Nelson phaeton rolled out of the yard.  Before he had time to give way to utter despair a glimmer of hope appeared on the horizon, for the phaeton stopped, and there was evidently something the matter.  Sandy did not wait for it to be remedied.  He ran down the road with all the speed he could muster.