Cornelius and Mr. Toliver hugged each other.

“It came just in time,” said the younger man; “the last of my money was about gone, and I should have had to begin paying off that mortgage with no prospect of ever doing it.”

The two had suffered together, and it was fitting that they should be together to receive the news of the long-desired happiness; so arm in arm they sauntered down to the Congressman’s office about five o’clock the next afternoon.  In honor of the occasion, Mr. Johnson had spent his last dollar in redeeming the grey Prince Albert and the shiny hat.  A smile flashed across Barker’s face as he noted the change.

“Well, Cornelius,” he said, “I’m glad to see you still prosperous-looking, for there were some alleged irregularities in your methods down in Alabama, and the Senate has refused to confirm you.  I did all I could for you, but—­”

The rest of the sentence was lost, as Col.  Mason’s arms received his friend’s fainting form.

“Poor devil!” said the Congressman.  “I should have broken it more gently.”

Somehow Col.  Mason got him home and to bed, where for nine weeks he lay wasting under a complete nervous give-down.  The little wife and the children came up to nurse him, and the woman’s ready industry helped him to such creature comforts as his sickness demanded.  Never once did she murmur; never once did her faith in him waver.  And when he was well enough to be moved back, it was money that she had earned, increased by what Col.  Mason, in his generosity of spirit, took from his own narrow means, that paid their second-class fare back to the South.

During the fever-fits of his illness, the wasted politician first begged piteously that they would not send him home unplaced, and then he would break out in the most extravagant and pompous boasts about his position, his Congressman and his influence.  When he came to himself, he was silent, morose, and bitter.  Only once did he melt.  It was when he held Col.  Mason’s hand and bade him good-bye.  Then the tears came into his eyes, and what he would have said was lost among his broken words.

As he stood upon the platform of the car as it moved out, and gazed at the white dome and feathery spires of the city, growing into grey indefiniteness, he ground his teeth, and raising his spent hand, shook it at the receding view.  “Damn you! damn you!” he cried.  “Damn your deceit, your fair cruelties; damn you, you hard, white liar!”

AN OLD-TIME CHRISTMAS

When the holidays came round the thoughts of ’Liza Ann Lewis always turned to the good times that she used to have at home when, following the precedent of anti-bellum days, Christmas lasted all the week and good cheer held sway.  She remembered with regret the gifts that were given, the songs that were sung to the tinkling of the banjo and the dances with which they beguiled the night hours.  And the eating!  Could she forget it?  The great turkey, with the fat literally bursting from him; the yellow yam melting into deliciousness in the mouth; or in some more fortunate season, even the juicy ’possum grinning in brown and greasy death from the great platter.