The bright sun of circus-day shone into Harkless's window, and he awoke to

find himself smiling. For a little while he lay content, drowsily

wondering why he smiled, only knowing that there was something new. It was

thus, as a boy, he had wakened on his birthday mornings, or on Christmas,

or on the Fourth of July, drifting happily out of pleasant dreams into the

consciousness of long-awaited delights that had come true, yet lying only

half-awake in a cheerful borderland, leaving happiness undefined.

The morning breeze was fluttering at his window blind; a honeysuckle vine

tapped lightly on the pane. Birds were trilling, warbling, whistling. From

the street came the rumbling of wagons, merry cries of greeting, and the

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barking of dogs. What was it made him feel so young and strong and light-

hearted? The breeze brought him the smell of June roses, fresh and sweet

with dew, and then he knew why he had come smiling from his dreams. He

would go a holiday-making. With that he leaped out of bed, and shouted

loudly: "Zen! Hello, Xenophon!"

In answer, an ancient, very black darky put his head in at the door, his

warped and wrinkled visage showing under his grizzled hair like charred

paper in a fall of pine ashes. He said: "Good-mawn', suh. Yessuh. Hit's

done pump' full. Good-mawn', suh."

A few moments later, the colored man, seated on the front steps of the

cottage, heard a mighty splashing within, while the rafters rang with

stentorian song:

"He promised to buy me a bunch o' blue ribbon,

He promised to buy me a bunch o' blue ribbon,

He promised to buy me a bunch o' blue ribbon,

To tie up my bonny brown hair

"Oh dear! What can the matter be?

Oh dear! What can the matter be?

Oh dear! What can the matter be?

Johnnie's so long at the Fair!"

At the sound of this complaint, delivered in a manly voice, the listener's

jaw dropped, and his mouth opened and stayed open. "Him!" he muttered,

faintly. "Singin'!"

"Well, the old Triangle knew the music of our tread;

How the peaceful Seminole would tremble in his bed!"

sang the editor.

"I dunno huccome it," exclaimed the old man, "an' dat ain' hyer ner dar;

but, bless Gawd! de young man' happy!" A thought struck him suddenly, and

he scratched his head. "Maybe he goin' away," he said, querulously. "What

become o' ole Zen?" The splashing ceased, but not the voice, which struck

into a noble marching chorus. "Oh, my Lawd," said the colored man, "I pray

you listen at dat!"




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