With absolutely no knowledge of the difference between a reputable business street and a row of dives, she drifted here and there until finally she met a man whom she at once recognized as Moreton, although in fact he was a drummer for a wholesale liquor house of Atlanta. She placed herself resolutely in his way, as he was about to pass her, and said:
"Air ye the feller 'at come to our house thet day?"
The man, a tall fellow, not unlike Moreton physically, looked down at this pleasing apparition, and for want of better response, said:
"What day?"
"Thet air day 'at hit rained so, an' ye tuck dinner, an' staid all day. Don't ye 'member?"
"Can't recollect you, sis: seems like I ought to though, by George. What's your name?" He took hold of the brim of her coarse hat and lifting it a little peeped under at her face, now suddenly pink with blushing.
"Ye know—I'm Mr. White's girl, up ther' wher' ye fotch the turkeys thet air rainy day."
"Oh, yes, I do recollect mighty well now, certainly. I fetched the turkeys, yes. You are White's girl. I'm real glad to see you. How's the folks?" said he, glibly.
"We're all well," responded Milly. "I wushed to ax ye ef ye've seed John Reynolds lately."
"John Reynolds—John Reynolds, which John Reynolds do you mean?" he inquired, with a show of having a dozen men of that name in his mind.