“Colonel,” replied Brent, “do you recall the rough and uncouth young citizen who came over here from Cincinnati, as clerk on the Vicksburg?”

“I remember, sir, that he was so promising that they made him provisional captain the next trip, and he was not yet twenty-four years of age.”

“And do you remember buying the Vicksburg at the sheriff’s sale for twenty thousand dollars, and handing her over to young Brent, and saying, ’There, my son, she’s your boat, and you can pay for her when you like’?”

“Shucks, Brent!” said Mr. Carvel, sternly, “your memory’s too good.  But I proved myself a good business man, Jinny; he paid for her in a year.”

“You don’t mean that you made him pay you for the boat?” cried Jinny.  “Why, Pa, I didn’t think you were that mean!”

The two men laughed heartily.

“I was a heap meaner,” said her father.  “I made him pay interest.”

Virginia drew in her breath, and looked at the Colonel in amazement.

“He’s the meanest man I know,” said Captain Lige.  “He made me pay interest, and a mint julep.”

“Upon my word, Pa,” said Miss Virginia, soberly, “I shouldn’t have believed it of you.”

Just then Jackson, in his white jacket; came to announce that supper was ready, and they met Ned at the dining-room door, fairly staggering under a load of roses.

“Marse Clarence done send ’em in, des picked out’n de hothouse dis afternoon, Miss Jinny.  Jackson, fotch a bowl!”

“No,” said Virginia.  She took the flowers from Ned, one by one, and to the wonderment of Captain Lige and her—­father strewed them hither and thither upon the table until the white cloth was hid by the red flowers.  The Colonel stroked his goatee and nudged Captain Lige.

“Look-a-there, now,” said he.  “Any other woman would have spent two mortal hours stickin’ ’em in china.”

Virginia, having critically surveyed her work, amid exclamations from Ned and Jackson, had gone around to her place.  And there upon her plate lay a pearl necklace.  For an instant she clapped her palms together, staring at it in bewilderment.  And once more the little childish cry of delight, long sweet to the Colonel’s ears, escaped her.

“Pa,” she said, “is it—?” And there she stopped, for fear that it might not be.  But he nodded encouragingly.

“Dorothy Carvel’s necklace!  No, it can’t be.”

“Yes, honey,” said the Colonel.  “Your Uncle Daniel sent it, as he promised.  And when you go upstairs, if Easter has done as I told her, you will see a primrose dress with blue coin-flowers on your bed.  Daniel thought you might like that, too, for a keepsake.  Dorothy Manners wore it in London, when she was a girl.”

And so Virginia ran and threw her arms about her father’s neck, and kissed him again and again.  And lest the Captain feel badly, she laid his India shawl beside her; and the necklace upon it.