We meant to stay out until the Bredes
had taken their departure; but we returned just in time to see Pete,
the Jacobus darkey, the blacker of boots, the brasher of coats, the
general handy-man of the house, loading the Brede trunks on the
Jacobus wagon.
And, as we stepped upon the verandah, down came Mrs. Brede, leaning on
Mr. Brede's arm, as though she were ill; and it was clear that she had
been crying. There were heavy rings about her pretty black eyes.
My wife took a step toward her.
"Look at that dress, dear," she whispered; "she never thought anything
like this was going to happen when she put _that_ on."
It was a pretty, delicate, dainty dress, a graceful, narrow-striped
affair. Her hat was trimmed with a narrow-striped silk of the same
colors--maroon and white--and in her hand she held a parasol that
matched her dress.
"She's had a new dress on twice a day," said my wife, "but that's the
prettiest yet. Oh, somehow--I'm _awfully_ sorry they're going!"
But going they were. They moved toward the steps. Mrs. Brede looked
toward my wife, and my wife moved toward Mrs.
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