In his heart he was glad the negro was not there, for something warned him that in the poor black man he might find a formidable obstacle to his plan.  Meanwhile in the house Mandy Ann had been busy with the supper-table.  They ought to have a good deal of light, she thought, remembering the lamps at Mrs. Perkins’s, and as there were only two candlesticks in the house her fertile brain had contrived two more from some large round potatoes, cutting a flat piece from one end, making a hole in the centre to hold the candle, and wrapping some white paper around the standard.  She had taken great pains with the table, trying to imitate Mrs. Perkins’s, and the imitation was rather satisfactory to herself.  The best cloth had been brought out, and though it was yellow with disuse it showed what it had been.  A few roses in a pitcher were in the centre of the table, and ranged around them were the four candles, spluttering and running down as tallow candles are apt to do.  The dishes troubled her, they were so thick and nicked in so many places, that it was difficult to find one which was whole.  The stranger had the china plate, which had done duty as a tray for his card, and he had the only plated fork in the house:  a Christmas gift from Jake to the ole Miss, who scarcely appreciated it, but insisted that it be wrapped in several folds of tissue paper and kept in her bureau drawer.  Mandy Ann did not ask if she could have it.  She took it and rubbed it with soft sand to remove some discolorations and laid it, with a horn-handled knife, by the china plate.

“Ef we only had napkins,” she said, while Sonsie, who had lived all her life near the clearing, and knew nothing of the fashions of the world, asked what napkins were.  With a toss of her head indicative of her superior knowledge, Mandy Ann replied, “You’d know if you’d lived wid de quality in Jacksonville.  Miss Perkins’s allus had ’em.  Dey’s squar little towels what you holds in yer lap to wipe yer fingers on when you’ve done eatin’.  Dat’s what they is, an’ de gemman or to hev one.”

“Can’t he wipe his hands on de table cloth, for oncet?” Sonsie asked, with a sudden inspiration which was received with great scorn by Mandy Ann, to whom there had also come an inspiration on which she at once acted.

In one of ole Miss’s bureau drawers was a large plain linen handkerchief which was never used.  It would serve the purpose nicely, and Mandy Ann brought it out, holding it behind her lest it should be seen by the old lady, who sometimes saw more than Mandy Ann cared to have her see.  It was rather yellow like the table cloth, and the creases where it was folded were a little dark, but Mandy Ann turned it, and refolded and pressed it, and laid it on the china plate, while Sonsie looked on and admired.  Everything was in readiness, and Mandy Ann called across the clearing.  “Hallo, Miss Dory.  Supper’s done served.”

She had caught on to a good many things at Miss Perkins’s, and “served” was one of them.  “I don’t s’pose Miss Dory will understan’,” she thought, “but he will, and see dat dis nigger know sumptin’.”