of the morning. It was courteously acknowledged, and the General
commenced as if he wished to engage in a conversation.

"Beautiful wedder dis marning, Missa Holden."

"Old man, thy days are too short to be wasted in chattering about the
weather," said Holden. "Speak, if thou hast aught to say."

The General's attempt at familiarity was effectually checked, and he
felt somewhat chagrined at the reply; but for all that he would not
give up his friendly purpose.

"Dey say," he said, with military precision, "dat de Constable Basset
hab a warrant agin Missa Holden."

"Thanks, Primus," said Holden, resuming his walk, "but I fear the face
of no man."

"De obstinate pusson!" exclaimed the negro. "And den to talk about my
short day! Dat is bery onpleasaut. Short day, Missa Holden, eh? Not as
you knows on. I can tell you dis child born somewhere about de twenty
ob June (at any rate de wedder was warm), and mean to lib accordingly.
Oh, you git out, Missa Holden! Poor parwarse pusson! What a pity he
hab no suspect for de voice ob de charmer! I always hear," he added,
chuckling, in that curious, mirth-inspiring way so peculiar to the
blacks, "dat de black snake know how to charm best, but all sign fail
in dry wedder, and de pan flash in de powder dis time."

Holden paid not the least regard to the information. According to his
system of fatalism he would have considered it beyond his power to
alter the predetermined course of things, but it is not probable that
his mind dwelt upon the thought of personal security. He went straight
forward to the village, calling at places where he thought he would
most likely find customers for his wares, and in no respect avoiding
public observation. He had sold his baskets, and was on his return to
the river, over whose frozen surface lay his road home, when he beheld
a scene that solicited his attention and arrested his steps.

It was an Indian burial. Holden in his round had strolled as far
as the piece of table land, of which mention was made in the first
chapter, to a distance of nearly a mile from the head of the Severn,
and was at the moment opposite a spot reserved by the tribe, of which
a small number were lingering in the neighborhood, as the revered
resting-place of the bones of their ancestors, whence they themselves
hoped to start for the happy hunting grounds. It was a place of
singular beauty, selected apparently with a delicate appreciation of
the loveliness of the scener