ter of a bird.

"It's me, Sarp."

Who that was did not seem so plain to Sarp; he darted his swift glance
in her direction, then at one step parted the bushes and dragged her
through, as if it were game that he had trapped.

"Oh, Sarp!" cried Flor, falling at his feet. "Doan' yer kill me now! I
di'n' mean to ha' found yer. I's done los' in de swamp, wid"----

But Flor thought better of that.

The man raised her, but still held her out at arm's length, while he
listened for further sound behind her.

"Oh, jus' le' go, Sarp, an' I'll dance for you till I drap!" she cried.

"Is it a time for dancing," he replied, "and the earth open for
burying?"

"Lors, Sarp!" cried Flor, shrinking from the shallow grave she had not
seen, "how's I to know dat?"--and she gave herself safe distance.

"Help me yere, then," said he.

But Flor remained immovable, and Sarp was obliged to perform by himself
the last offices for the old slave, who, living out his term of
harassments and hungers, had grown gray and died in the swamps. He went
at last and brought an armful of broken sweet-flowering boughs and
spread them over the place.

"Free among the dead," he said; then turned to Flor, who, having long
since seen daylight through the darkness of her fears, proceeded glibly
and volubly to pour out her troubles, on his beckoning her away, and to
demand the help she had refused to render.

"There's the boat," said Sarp, reflectively. "And the rain will float it
'most anywheres to-night. But--come so far and troo so much to go back?"

Flor flung up her face and held her head back proudly.

"Yes, Sah! Doan' s'pose I'd be stealin' Mas'r Henry's niggers?"

For, having meditated upon it an hour ago, she was able to repel the
charge vigorously.

"Go'n' to stay a slave all your life?"

"All Miss Emma's life."

"And--afterwards"----

"Den I'll go back to de good brown earth wid her," said Flor, solving
the problem promptly.--"I doan' see de boat."

"Ah, she'll make as brown dust as you,--Miss Emma,--that's so! But the
spirit, Lome!"

"Sperit?" said Flor, looking uneasily over her shoulder with her
twinkling eyes.

"The part of you that doan' die, Lome."

"I haan' nof'n ter do wid dat; dat 'longs to dem as made it; none o' my
lookout; dono nof'n 'bout it, an' doan' want ter hear nof'n about it!"
said Flor; for, reasoning on the old adage of a bird in the hand being
worth two in the bush, she thought it more important just at pr