r. Not until nightfall would any
attack be attempted; he had six or eight hours yet in which to perfect
his plans. He ran his eyes about the room searching for some spot
of weakness. It was dark back of the bench, and he turned in that
direction. Leaning over, he looked down on the figure of a man curled
up, sound asleep on the floor. The fellow's limbs twitched as if in a
dream, otherwise he might have deemed him dead, as his face was buried
in his arms. A moment Keith hesitated; then he reached down and shook
the sleeper, until he aroused sufficiently to look up. It was the face
of a coal-black negro. An instant the fellow stared at the man towering
over him, his thick lips parted, his eyes full of sudden terror. Then he
sat up, with hands held before him as though warding off a blow.

"Fo' de Lawd's sake," he managed to articulate finally, "am dis sho'
yo', Massa Jack?"

Keith, to whom all colored people were much alike, laughed at the
expression on the negro's face.

"I reckon yer guessed the name, all right, boy. Were you the cook of the
Diamond L?"

"No, sah, I nebber cooked no di'onds. I'se ol' Neb, sah."

"What?"

"Yes, sah, I'se de boy dat libbed wid ol' Missus Caton durin' de wah. I
ain't seen yo', Massa Jack, sence de day we buried yo' daddy, ol' Massa
Keith. But I knowed yo' de berry minute I woke up. Sho', yo' 'members
Neb, sah?"

It came to Keith now in sudden rush of memory--the drizzling rain in the
little cemetery, the few neighbors standing about, a narrow fringe of
slaves back of them, the lowering of the coffin, and the hollow sound
of earth falling on the box; and Neb, his Aunt Caton's house servant, a
black imp of good humor, who begged so hard to be taken back with him to
the war. Why, the boy had held his stirrup the next morning when he rode
away. The sudden rush of recollection seemed to bridge the years, and
that black face became familiar, a memory of home.

"Of course, I remember, Neb," he exclaimed, eagerly, "but that's all
years ago and I never expected to see you again. What brought you West
and got you into this hole?"

The negro hitched up onto the bench, the whites of his eyes conspicuous
as he stared uneasily about--he had a short, squatty figure, with
excessively broad shoulders, and a face of intense good humor.

"I reck'n dat am consider'ble ob a story, Massa Jack, de circumlocution
ob which would take a heap ob time tellin'," he began soberly. "But
it happened 'bout d