de ole one hisself he wouldn't hab no eyes, cause Misses Rusha Rush jes
done gone an' stole 'em."

This dark reference caused a closer grouping of the sable dames and
damsels. Trembling hands drew small plaid shawls closer about the
shoulders, while one bolder than the rest cast a huge pine-knot upon the
glowing coals.

Amy was first to break the brief silence.

"Mighty pity Jude Rush ever fell off 'Big Thunderbolt' and broke his
slim neck! But Massa Duncan knew nuf once to let Miss Rusha 'lone; he's
not gwine to be 'veigled by none o' her hilofical airs--you may 'pend on
dat; 'specially when he's had dat sweet saint all to hisself now dese so
many year--no, neber."

And Amy reiterated this over and over, as if to kill the secret thought
which haunted her against her will.

"She persume to come here and order you dis way an' I dat way, an' all
us all 'round ebry which way--oo--but I gived her a piece o' my mind,"
spake Margery, the weaver, very irate.

"Umph! I never seed ye speak to her," said Amy, doubtingly.

"Not wid my tongue, mind ye. I knows better den dat. But I jes spit fire
at her out of my eyes."

"Fire neber burn Miss Rusha; she too ugly for dat. S'pose fire burn de
ole Nick? Den he be done dead and gone, which ain't so; derefore nuthin'
ever fall Miss Rusha; she never sick, nor die, nor drown, nor burn up.
Miss Ellice she sick, she die, 'cause she be an angel; she go home to
glory; but Miss Rusha she live, jes to trouble white folks, jes to
torment niggers."

Wrathful Amy, as she said this, glanced triumphantly at Margery, who was
about to speak, when Chloe took the floor, figuratively.

"Tank de Lord, we ain't de niggers what she's got to torment; and she
needn't be setting her cap for our own good Massa Duncan; she may jes
hang up high her fiddle on de willows o' Bab'lon; she sit down an' weep
on de streams; she neber hab good Massa Duncan; neber while de trees on
Kennons grow and de stars 'bove Kennons shine."

Kennons was the name of the Lisle plantation.

"She'd like to jine the two plantations. One is too little for her to
rule. She's allus wanted our south 'bacco patch. Her hundred niggers and
Massa's hundred would make a crew. O, she's a shrewd one; she sees
further than her nose. She'd make my shettle fly fast as Aunt Kizzie's."

"Somebody ought to make your shuttle fly faster than is its habit,
Margery," returned China, usually quiet and gentle. "But what if you are
all mistaken, a