and there was a touching gentleness in his face, as if he expressed still the mental attitude of a class which had existed merely as a support or a foil to the order above it.  Without spirit to resent, he, with his fellows, had endured the greatest evils of slavery.  With the curse of free labour on the land, there had been no incentive for toil, no hire for the labourer.  Like an incubus the system had lain over them, stifling all energy, checking all progress, retarding all prosperity save the prosperity of the great land-owners.  Then the soil had changed hands, and where the plough had broken the earth, the seeds of a democracy had germinated and put forth from the very blood of the battlefields.  In the upward pressure of class, he had seen the stability of custom yield at last to the impetus of an energy that was not racial but individual.  Yet from the transition he had remained always a little apart.  Reverence had become for him a habit of mind, and he had learned that respect could outlive even a belief in the thing upon which it was founded.  Mr. Jonathan and he had been soldiers together.  His old commander still entered his thoughts to the rattle of musketry and the roar of cannon, and a single sublime action at Malvern Hill had served in the mind of the soldier to spread a legendary glamour over a life which held hardly another incident that was worthy of remembrance.

At his entrance Molly melted from her hostile attitude, and while she hung on the old man’s breast, Gay noticed, with surprise, that she was made up of enchanting curves and delicious softness.  Her sharpened features grew rounder, and her thin red lips lost their hardness of outline.  When she raised her head after a minute, he saw that the light in her eyes adorned and enriched her.  By Jove, he had never imagined that she could change and colour like that!

“You are late, grandfather,” said the girl, “I was coming to look for you with a lantern.”

“The red cow kept me,” answered the old man, adding as he held out his hand to Gay, “So you’ve come at last, Mr. Jonathan.  Your mother will be pleased.”

“I was sorry to find her absent,” replied Gay, “and I was just asking your granddaughter if she would permit me to join you at supper?”

“To be sure—­to be sure,” responded Reuben, with a cheerfulness which struck Gay as singularly pathetic.  “After supper Molly will go over with Patsey and see that you are made comfortable.”

The old hound, blind and toothless, fawned at his knees, and leaning over, he caressed it with a knotted and trembling hand.

“Has Spot had his supper, Molly?”

“Yes, grandfather.  He can eat only soft bread and gravy.”  At her voice the hound groped toward her, and stooping, she laid her soft, flushed cheek on his head.

“Well, sit down, suh, sit down,” said Reuben, speaking timidly as if he were not sure he had chosen the right word.  “If you’ll tell Delily, honey, Mr. Jonathan will have his supper.”