This was Mandy Ann’s master-stroke at good manners.  She had seen such things at “Miss Perkins’s” in Jacksonville, and had once or twice taken a card on a silver tray to that lady, and why not bring the fashion to her own home, if it were only a log-cabin, and she a bare-foot, bare-legged waitress, instead of Mrs. Perkins’s maid Rachel, smart in slippers and cap, and white apron.  For a moment the stranger’s face relaxed into a broad smile at the ludicrousness of the situation.  Mandy Ann, who was quick of comprehension, understood the smile and hastened to explain.

“I done larn’t a heap of things at Miss Perkins’s, which we can’t do hyar, ‘case of ole Miss bein’ so quar.  Miss Dory’d like ’em right well.”

“Certainly,” the stranger said, beginning to have a good deal of respect for the poor slave girl trying to keep up the dignity of her family.

Taking a card from his case he handed it to Mandy Ann, who looked at it carefully as if reading the name, although she held it wrong side up.  There was no silver tray to take it on—­there was no tray at all—­but there was a china plate kept as an ornament on a shelf, and on this Mandy Ann placed the card, and then darted up the stairs, finding her mistress nearly dressed, and waiting for her.

“Oh, his card?  He gave it to you?” Eudora said, flushing with pleasure that he had paid her this compliment, and pressing her lips to the name when Mandy Ann did not see her.

“In course he done gin it to me.  Dat’s de way wid de quality both Souf and Norf.  We livin’ hyar in de clarin’ doan know noffin’.”  Mandy Ann replied.

On the strength of her three months sojourn with Mrs. Perkins, who was undeniably quality, she felt herself capable of teaching many things to her young mistress, who had seldom repressed her, and who now made no answer except to ask, “How do I look?”

She had hesitated a moment as to the dress she would wear in place of the one discarded.  She had very few to select from, and finally took down a white gown sacred to her, because of the one occasion on which she had worn it.  It was a coarse muslin, but made rather prettily with satin bows on the sleeves, and shoulders, and neck.  Several times, since she had hung it on a peg under a sheet to keep it from getting soiled, she had looked at it and stroked it, wondering if she would ever wear it again.  Now she took it down and smoothed the bows of ribbon, and brushed a speck from the skirt, while there came to her eyes a rush of glad tears as she put it on, with a thought that he would like her in it, and then tried to see its effect in the little eight by twelve cracked glass upon the wall.  All she could see was her head and shoulders, and so she asked the opinion of Mandy Ann, who answered quickly, “You done look beautiful—­some like de young ladies in Jacksonville, and some like you was gwine to be married.”

“Perhaps I am,” Eudora replied, with a joyous ring in her voice.  “Would you like to have me get married?”