quired Jerome, with a lordly air. An emperor about
to bestow a largess upon a slave could have had no more of the very
grandeur of beneficence in his mien.

Lucina nodded meekly.

Jerome drew out a great handful of strange articles from his pocket,
and they might, from his manner of handling them, have been gold
pieces and jewels. There were old buttons, a bit of chalk, and a stub
of slate-pencil. There were a horse-chestnut and some grains of
parched sweet-corn and a dried apple-core. There were other things
which age and long bondage in the pocket had brought to such passes
that one could scarcely determine their identities. From all this
Jerome selected one undoubted treasure--a great jagged cut of
sassafras root. It had been nicely scraped, too, and looked white and
clean.

"Here," said Jerome.

"Don't you want it?" asked Lucina, shyly.

"No--had a great piece twice as big as that yesterday. Know where
there's lots more in the cedar swamp. Here, take it."

"Thank you," said Lucina, and took it, and fumbled nervously after
her little pocket.

"Why don't you eat it?" asked Jerome, and Lucina took an obedient
little nibble.

"Ain't that good and strong?"

"It's real good," replied Lucina, smiling gratefully.

"Mebbe I'll dig you some more some time," said Jerome, as if the
cedar swamp were a treasure-chest.

"Thank you," said the little girl. Then she timidly extended the
gingerbread again. "I only took three little bites, an' it's real
nice, honest," said she, appealingly.

But she jumped again at the flash in Jerome's black eyes.

"Don't want your old gingerbread!" he cried. "Ain't hungry; have
more'n I want to eat to home. Guess my folks have gingerbread. Like
to know what you're tryin' to give me victuals for! Don't want any of
your old gingerbread!"

"It ain't old, honest," pleaded Lucina, tearfully. "It ain't
old--Hannah, she just baked it this morning." But the boy was gone,
pelting hard across the field, and all there was for the little girl
to do was to go home, with her sassafras in her pocket and her
gingerbread in her hand, with an aromatic savor on her tongue and the
sting of slighted kindness in her heart, with her cosset lamb
trotting at heel, and tell her mother.

Jerome did not return to his nook in the rock. As he neared it he
heard the hollow note of a horn from the northwest.

"S'pose mother wants me," he muttered, and went on past the rock
ledge to the west, and climbed the