with Marann when her mother would let her go into the parlor. Here and
everywhere about the house, in the dining-room, in the passage, at the
foot of the stairs, he would joke with Marann about her country beau,
as he styled poor Sim Marchman, and he would talk as though he was
rather ashamed of Sim, and wanted Marann to string her bow for higher
game.

Brer Sam did manage well, not only the fields, but the yard. Every
Saturday of the world he sent in something or other to his sister. I
don't know whether I ought to tell it or not, but for the sake of what
is due to pure veracity I will. On as many as three different
occasions Sim Marchman, as if he had lost all self-respect, or had not
a particle of tact, brought in himself, instead of sending by a negro,
a bucket of butter and a coop of spring chickens as a free gift to
Mrs. Fluker. I do think, on my soul, that Mr. Matt Pike was much
amused by such degradation--however, he must say that they were all
first-rate. As for Marann, she was very sorry for Sim, and wished he
had not brought these good things at all.

Nobody knew how it came about; but when the Flukers had been in town
somewhere between two and three months, Sim Marchman, who (to use his
own words) had never bothered her a great deal with his visits, began
to suspect that what few he made were received by Marann lately with
less cordiality than before; and so one day, knowing no better, in his
awkward, straightforward country manners, he wanted to know the reason
why. Then Marann grew distant, and asked Sim the following question:

"You know where Mr. Pike's gone, Mr. Marchman?"

Now the fact was, and she knew it, that Marann Fluker had never