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He took my tobacco in silence, and in silence filled his pipe and lit it. I felt that he had something to say to me, so I waited patiently, and we both puffed away. "S'lome's comin' a week from to-night," he said, at last. His voice was softer than I had ever heard it, and a caressing note lurked in it. "Seems a long time to us since she went away last September.
If left to the dictates of my own will, there is no telling how long this would have continued. But one morning, at breakfast, my host surprised me with the words: "Stone, you remember the old St. Rose church you spoke of? It's worth looking at, but the Lord knows when I'll have a chance to go with you. S'lome's a great favorite with the sisters over at St.
Even this African's face was beaming like a freshly polished stove, and I became almost irritated. "What are you grinning about?" I demanded, as he bent to his work with blacking and brush. "Miss S'lome's comin' home, Marse," he panted, rolling his white eyes at me in ecstasy. "Are you very glad?" I continued. "Yas,'r, I is. Miss Salome's jes' so sweet that honey can't tech 'er.
S'lome's comin' home," he repeated, as though the very sentence brought joy. "It's right for me to tell you 'bout her, Stone, since you're to be one of us for quite a spell. It's a sort o' sad story, but me an' mother've tried to make her forget the beginning of her life.
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