uss.

"And he tried to get at us through the roof," added Rose.

Daddy Bunker and Mr. Armatage looked at each other pretty seriously.

"We didn't get here a minute too soon," said the planter.

"I believe you," returned Mr. Bunker gravely. "This might have been a
very serious affair."

But in the morning, after Russ and Rose were refreshed by sleep and had
told the particulars of their adventure at the breakfast table, the
youngsters really took pride in what had happened to them. The smaller
children looked upon Russ and Rose as being very wonderful.

"What would you have done, Russ, if that big cat had got into the house
with you and Rose?" Vi asked.

"But he didn't," was the boy's reply.

"Well, if he had what would you have done?"

But that proved to be another question that Vi Bunker never got
answered. This was so often the case!

"So you thought it was a ghost at first, and then it turned out to be a
big cat," Laddie said to Rose. "I think I could make up a riddle about
that."

"All right," said Rose, with a sigh. "You can make up all the riddles
you want to about it. Making a riddle about a panther is lots better
than being chased by one."

Laddie, however, did not make the riddle. In fact he forgot all about it
in the excitement of what directly followed the rescue of Russ and Rose
from the wild animal. Mr. Bunker felt so happy about the recovery of the
two children that he determined to do something nice for the colored
people who had so enthusiastically aided in hunting for Russ and Rose.

"Let 'em have another big dance and dinner, such as they had Christmas
eve," Mr. Bunker suggested to the planter. "I'll pay the bill."

"Just as you say, Charley," agreed Mr. Armatage. "That will please 'em
all about as much as anything you could think of. I'll get some kind of
music for them to dance by, and we'll all go down and watch 'em. Your
young ones certainly do like dancing."

This was true. And especially was Russ Bunker anxious to learn to dance
as some of the colored boys did. He was constantly practising the funny
pigeon wing that he had seen Sam do in Aunt Jo's kitchen, in Boston. But
the white boy could not get it just right.

"Never mind, Russ," Laddie said approvingly, "you do it better and
better all the time. I guess you can do it by and by--three or four
years from now, maybe." But three or four years seemed a long time to
Russ.

When they went down to the quarters the evening of the