“Lawd, Miss Euginny, dis yer ain’ gwineter hu’t you.  Hit ain’ nuttin but ker’sene oil nohow.  Miss Sally Burwell des let me souse her haid in it de udder day.  Hit’ll keep you f’om gittin’ gray, sho’s I live.”

“You shan’t touch me with it, Delphy.  And you ought to be ashamed—­I haven’t a gray hair.  Have I, Dudley?”

Delphy returned the bottle with a sigh, and applied herself to a vigorous brushing of Eugenia’s hair.

“You sho is filled out sence I see you, Marse Dudley,” she observed at last.

“Yes, I’m getting fat, Delphy,” returned Dudley with a laugh.  “It’s old age, you know.  It’s a long time since the days when you spanked me with a heavy hand.”

“Go ‘way f’om yer, Marse Dudley; you know I ain’ never spank you none ter hu’t.  En you ain’ er bit too fat ter fit yo’ skin, nohow.”

Dudley regarded her with a kindly, patriarchal eye as he straightened himself against the mantel.  “Any news from down your way, Delphy?” he inquired with interest.  “What’s become of Moses?  Moses was always a friend of mine.  He used to bring me a pocketful of peanuts from every picking he went to.”

Delphy shook her head, her huge lips tightening.  “He’s down wid de purple headache,” she replied gloomily, “twel he can’t smell de diff’ence between er ’possum en er polecat.  Yes, suh, Mose he’s moughty low down, en’ ter dis yer day he ain’ never got over Marse Nick Burr’s ous’in’ you en Miss Euginny outer de cheer you all oughter had down yonder at de cap’tol.  I ain’ got much use fer Marse Nick myse’f.  He’s monst’ous hard on po’ folks.  I ain’ been able to rent out mo’n oner my rooms sence he’s been down dar.  Dat’s right, Miss Euginny, yo’ hyar’s des es dry es I kin git it.”

When Delphy had gone, Dudley leaned down and put his arm about Eugenia as he kissed her.  “All right, Eugie?” he asked cheerfully.  Eugenia returned his caress with a startled pleasure, looking up at him affectionately, fascinated by the glow which hung about him.

“Oh, I really don’t think I could do without you, Dudley,” she said quickly.

“Well, it’s a good thing you don’t have to,” responded Dudley as he kissed her again.

It was several days after this that Eugenia came to him one evening as he stood before the fire and laid her cool cheek against his arm.

“Oh, Dudley,” she said breathlessly, “I am so happy—­so absurdly happy.”

She raised her head and Dudley, looking at her in the firelight, found her more beautiful than she had been even in the radiant days of her girlhood.  He had seen that high resolve in her face but once before, and he grasped the meaning now as then—­it was the dawn of motherhood that enveloped her.  She had heard the call of the generations in the end—­the appeal of the race that moved her nature more profoundly than did the erratic ardours of the individual.  There was a clear light in her eyes, and her features