A passing band of contract hands called
to her mockingly, and one black giant, laughing loudly, gripped her
hand.
"Come, honey," he shouted, "you'se a'dreaming! Come on, honey!"
She turned abruptly and gripped his hand, as one drowning grips anything
offered--gripped till he winced. She laughed a loud mirthless laugh,
that came pouring like a sob from her deep lungs.
"Come on!" she mocked, and joined them.
They were a motley crowd, ragged, swaggering, jolly. There were husky,
big-limbed youths, and bold-faced, loud-tongued girls. To-morrow they
would start up-country to some backwoods barony in the kingdom of
cotton, and work till Christmas time. Today was the last in town; there
was craftily advanced money in their pockets and riot in their hearts.
In the gathering twilight they marched noisily through the streets; in
their midst, wide-eyed and laughing almost hysterically, marched Zora.
Mrs. Vanderpool meantime rode thoughtfully out of town toward Cresswell
Oaks. She was returning from witnessing the Mardi Gras festivities at
New Orleans and at the urgent invitation of the Cresswells had stopped
off. She might even stay to the wedding if the new plans matured.
Mrs. Vanderpool was quite upset. Her French maid, on whom she had
depended absolutely for five years or more, had left her.
"I think I want to try a colored maid," she told the Cresswells,
laughingly, as they drove home.
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