somewhere, little one; anywhere." And Marie Louise, glad to be relieved from the weight of the great cluster, dumped them all on the table close to Mr. Billy.
The perfume that came from the damp, massed flowers was heavy and almost sickening in its pungency. Mr. Billy quivered a little, and drew involuntarily back, as if from an unexpected assailant, when the odor reached him. He had been making cotton and corn for so many years, he had forgotten there were such things as lilies in the world.
"Kiar 'em out? fling 'em 'way?" questioned Pompey, who had observed his master cunningly.
"Let 'em alone! Keep your hands off them! Leave the room, you outlandish black scamp! What are you standing there for? Can't you set the Mamzelle a place at table, and draw up a chair?"
So Marie Louise—perched upon a fine old-fashioned chair, supplemented by a Webster's Unabridged—sat down to dine with Mr. Billy.
She had never eaten in company with so peculiar a gentleman before; so irascible to-
