ite
Calderwood's fox-hounds in full cry a mile away.

"Shoo!" he exclaimed, scratching his head, and laughing to himself, "dem
ar dogs is des a-warmin' dat old fox up."

But it was Dan the hounds were after, and the little dog came back no
more. Free Joe waited and waited, until he grew tired of waiting. He
went back the next night and waited, and for many nights thereafter. His
waiting was in vain, and yet he never regarded it as in vain. Careless
and shabby as he was, Free Joe was thoughtful enough to have his theory.
He was convinced that little Dan had found Lucinda, and that some night
when the moon was shining brightly through the trees, the dog would
rouse him from his dreams as he sat sleeping at the foot of the poplar
tree, and he would open his eyes and behold Lucinda standing over him,
laughing merrily as of old; and then he thought what fun they would have
about the queen of spades.

How many long nights Free Joe waited at the foot of the poplar tree for
Lucinda and little Dan no one can ever know. He kept no account of them,
and they were not recorded by Micajah Staley nor by Miss Becky. The
season ran into summer and then into fall. One night he went to the
Staley cabin, cut the two old people an armful of wood, and seated
himself on the doorsteps, where he rested. He was always thankful--and
proud, as it seemed--when Miss Becky gave him a cup of coffee, which she
was sometimes thoughtful enough to do. He was especially thankful on
this particular night.

"You er still layin' off for to strike up wi' Lucindy out thar in the
woods, I reckon," said Micajah Staley, smiling grimly. The situation was
not without its humorous aspects.

"Oh, dey er comin', Mars Cajy, dey er comin', sho," Free Joe replied. "I
boun' you dey'll come; en w'en dey does come, I'll des take en fetch um
yer, whar you kin see um wid you own eyes, you en Miss Becky."

"No," said Mr. Staley, with a quick and emphatic gesture of disapproval.
"Don't! don't fetch 'em anywheres. Stay right wi' 'em as long as may
be."

Free Joe chuckled, and slipped away into the night, while the two old
people sat gazing in the fire. Finally Micajah spoke.

"Look at that nigger; look at 'im. He's pine-blank as happy now as a
killdee by a mill-race. You can't faze 'em. I'd in-about give up my
t'other hand ef I could stan' flat-footed, an' grin at trouble like that
there nigger."

"Niggers is niggers," said Miss Becky, smiling grimly, "an' you can't
r