Dorothy could not keep the mirth from her lips. Uncle Josh was not measuring time by heartbeats but the cravings of his stomach; his immortal soul was his immortal appetite. However, whatever motive inspired him to fix the supper time, it proved efficacious, and partners were soon chosen and the dancing began again as vigorously as ever.
Dorothy and Elliott were not slow in joining the other dancers and glided through the dreamy measures which Uncle Josh, despite his longing to eat, drew forth sweetly from his old, worn fiddle. He was the soul of melody and had an eye to widening his range of selections and his inimitable technique appreciating the demands upon his art. When, with an extra flourish, Uncle Josh eventually brought the music to an end, Mr. Carr, with his easy Southern manner, courteously invited every one in to supper. He led the way, accompanied by Elliott Harding and Dorothy.
How pretty the dining-room looked! Its half-light coming through soft low tones of pink. Big rosy balls of sweet clover, fresh from the home fields, were massed in cream tinted vases, bunched over pictures and trailed down in lovely confusion about the window and straggling over door frames. Upon the long table stood tall candlesticks and candelabras many prismed, with branching vines twisted in and out in quaint fashion, bearing tall candles tipped with pink shades. From the centre of the ceiling to each corner of the room first, then to regular distances, were loosely stretched chains of pink and white clovers. Large bows of ribbon held these lengths in place where they met the chair board. In each corner close to the wall were jars which, in their pretty pink dresses of crinkled paper held in place by broad ribbon sashes, would scarcely be recognized as the old butter pots of our grandmothers’ days. From these jars grew tufts of rooted clover. Even the old fireplace and broad mantel were decked with these blossoms.
At each side of the table stood two glass bowls filled with branches of clover leaves only; one lot tied with pink ribbon, the other with white. When supper was served these bowls were passed around while Dorothy repeated the pretty tradition of the four-leaf clover. Then commenced the merry hunt for the prize that only two could win. Bright eyes and deft fingers searched their leaves through.
While this went on, in the dining-room just outside, under the moon and the maples, near the kitchen door, was another scene as joyous, if not so fair. At the head of the musician’s banquetting board sat Uncle Josh, hospitably helping each to the good things Aunt Chloe had heaped before them in accordance with the orders of “her white folks.” She was considered one of the most important members of the Carr household, having been in the service of the family for thirty years, being a blend of nurse, cook and lady’s maid.
As Uncle Josh’s brown, eager hands greedily grasped the mint julep, and held it sparkling between him and the light, with a broad smile on his beaming face, he exultantly exclaimed:
“De Lawd love her soul, Miss Dor’thy, nebber is ter fergit we all. Talk erbout de stars! She’s ’way ’bove dem.”
While he and his companions drank mint julep in token that his grateful sentiment was recognized as a toast to the fine hostess, the dining-room was ringing with laughter and congratulations over Elliott Harding’s victory, he having found one of the four-leaved trophies.
“Where is its mate?” was the eager question as nimble fingers and sharp eyes searched over the little bunches right and left again, anxious to find this potent charm against evil. The search, however, was vain. Some one asked if its loss meant that Mr. Harding should live unwedded for the rest of his days.
The evening closed with jokes of his bachelorhood.