puckered lips beneath them
were set firmly.

He stopped and looked at the faces before him. When he spoke his voice
was gentle, and though the tremulousness of age harped on the vocal
strings, it was rigidly controlled. "Kin some kine gelmun," he asked,
"please t'be so good ez t' show de ole main whuh de W'ite-Caips is done
shoot Marse Hawkliss?"

"Here was where it happened, Uncle Zen," answered Wiley, leaning him
forward. "Here is the stain."

Xenophon bent over the spot on the sand, making little odd noises in his
throat. Then he painfully resumed his former position. "Dass his blood,"
he said, in the same gentle, quavering tone. "Dass my bes' frien' whut
lay on de groun' whuh yo staind, gelmun."

There was a pause, and no one spoke.

"Dass whuh day laid 'im an' dass whuh he lie," the old negro continued.
"Dey shot 'im in de fiels. Dey ain' shot 'im hear-yondeh dey drugged
'im, but dis whuh he lie." He bent over again, then knelt, groaningly,
and placed his hand on the stain, one would have said, as a man might
place his hand over a heart to see if it still beat. He was motionless,
with the air of hearkening.

"Marse, honey, is you gone?" He raised his voice as if calling, "Is you
gone, suh?--Marse?"

He looked up at the circle about him, and, still kneeling, not taking
his hand from the sand, seeming to wait for a sign, to listen for a
voice, he said: "Whafo' you gelmun think de good Lawd summon Marse
Hawkliss? Kaze he de mos' fittes'? You know dat man he ketch me in de
cole night, wintuh 'to' lais', stealin' 'is wood. You know whut he done
t'de ole thief? Tek an' bull' up big fiah een ole Zen' shainty; say,
'He'p yo'se'f an' welcome. Reckon you hongry, too, ain' you, Xenophon?'
Tek an' feed me. Tek an' tek keer o' me ev' since. Ah pump de baith full
in de mawin'; mek 'is bed; pull de weeds out'n of de front walk--dass
all. He tek me in. When Ah aisk 'im ain' he fraid keep ole thief he say,
jesso: 'Dass all my fault, Xenophon; ought look you up long 'go; ought
know long 'go you be cole dese baid nights. Reckon Ahm de thievenest one
us two, Xenophon, keepin' all dis wood stock' up when you got none,' he
say, jesso. Tek me in; say he _lahk_ a thief. Pay me sala'y. Feed me.
Dass de main whut de Caips gone shot lais' night." He raised his head
sharply, and the mystery in his gloomy eyes intensified as they opened
wide and stared at the sky, unseeingly.

"Ise bawn wid a cawl!" he exclaimed, loudly. His twisted