He laughed more than ever at her, until Beth grew ashamed, and meekly accepted the moss that he piled up in her little arms.

The hot box so delayed the train that Jacksonville was not reached until the middle of the night.

Bob took a sleeping child in his arms, and carried her out to the bus.

“Good-bye, little missy,” he murmured, before handing her to her father.

Her arms tightened around his neck while her eyes opened for a second.

“Don’t leave me, Bob.  I love you.”

Then she did not remember anything more until she wakened in a strange room the next morning.

At first, she could not think where she was.  Then it came to her that she was in a hotel in Jacksonville.  She sprang out of bed, and ran to a window.  The room faced a park, and afforded Beth her first glimpse of tropical beauty.  Strange trees glistened in the glorious sunshine.  From pictures she had seen, Beth recognized the palms, and the orange trees.  Below, on the piazza, the band was playing “Dixie.”  Delighted as Beth was, she did not linger long by the window, but dressed as fast as she could.

Mr. Davenport entered the room.

“Do you know what time it is?  It’s fully eleven, and I was up at six this morning.”

“At six, papa?  What have you been doing?”

“I went down town, and then I drove far out into the country.”

“Oh, why didn’t you waken me and let me go?”

“I had business on hand.  Come along down to the dining-room.  Your mother had some breakfast saved for you.  I have a surprise for you.”

“A surprise, papa?  What is it?”

“It wouldn’t be as great a surprise if I told you.”  This was all the satisfaction she received until after she had breakfasted.

“We’re going for a drive,” said Mr. Davenport as she came out of the dining-room.

“Is the drive the surprise, papa?”

“You’ll know all in good time, Beth.  You must have patience,” he answered as he led the way out to the piazza.

“Get your hats, and bring Beth’s with you,” he said to Mrs. Davenport and Marian who were listening to the music.

“What do you think of that man and the rig?” asked Mr. Davenport of Beth, indicating a middle-aged negro who stood holding a bay mare hitched to a surrey.

Beth noted that the man looked good-natured.  There were funny little curves on his face suggestive of laughter even when in repose.  Jolly wrinkles lurked around his eyes.  Beth saw two rows of pearly teeth though his mouth was partly hidden by a mustache and beard.  His nose was large and flat.  It looked like a dirty piece of putty thrown at haphazard on a black background.  Beth, however, did not mind his homeliness.

“He’s nice, and the horse is beautiful,” she said.

“Then let’s go down and talk to the man.”

As Mr. Davenport and Beth walked to the side of the darky, he lifted his stovepipe hat that had been brushed until the silk was wearing away.  He revealed thereby a shock of iron-gray wool.  He made a sweeping bow.