Mr.

"Benjamin
long table; the dishes, tablecloth, and napkins were marked with an anchor, the
food simple but well cooked. 'Fish, of course, and some common supplies I can
understand,' said the visitor; 'bat how do yoga obtain flour like this, or sugar?'
'Father brings them,' said Silver, 'and keeps them locked in his storeroom. Brown
sugar we have always, but white not always, and I like it so much! Don't you?'
'No; I care nothing for it,' said Waring, remembering the few lumps and the little
white teeth. The old negress waited, and peered at the visitor out of her small
bright eyes; every time Silver spoke to her, she broke into a radiance of smiles
and nods, but said nothing. 'She lost her voice some years ago,' explained the
tithe mistress when the black had gone out for more coffee; 'and now she seems
to have forgotten how to form words, although she understands us.' Lorenz
returned, and, after refilling Waring’s cup, placed something shyly beside his plate,
and withdrew into the shadow. 'What is it?' said the young man, examining the
carefully folded parcel. 'Why, Lorez, have you given him that!' exclaimed Silver
as he drew out a scarlet ribbon, old and frayed, but brilliant still. 'We think it must
have belonged to her young master,' she continued in a low tone, 'It is her most
precious treasure, and long ago she used to talk about him, and about her old
home n the South.' The old woman came forward after a while, smiling and
nodding like an animated mummy, and taking the red ribbon threw it around the
young man's neck, knotting it under the chin. Then she nodded with treble
radiance and made signs; of satisfaction. 'Yes, it is becoming,' said Silver,
considering the effect thoughtfully, her small head with its veil of hair bent to one
side, like a flower swayed by the wind. The flesh-pots of Egypt returned to Jarvis
Waring's mind: he remembered certain articles of apparel left behind in
civilization, and murmured against the wilderness. Under the pretence of
examining the vases, he took an early opportunity of, looking into the round
mirror. 'I am hideous,' he said to himself, uneasily. 'Decidedly so,' echoed the
Spirit in a cheerful voice. But he was not; only a strong dark young man of
twenty-eight, browned by exposure, clad in a gray flannel shirt and the rough
attire of a hunter. The fire on the hearth sparked gayly. Silver had brought one
of her little white gowns, half finished, and sat sewing in its light, while the told