e
stole along the village street and hid himself in the bishop's grounds
until he should see some one astir in the house.

The bishop had sat late the night before, half expecting him, for he had
received Cassandra's letter, also one from Thryng. Neither letter threw
light on Frale's deed, although Cassandra's gave him to understand that
something more serious than illicit distilling had necessitated his
flight. David's was a joyous letter, craving his companionship whenever
his affairs might bring him near, but expressing the greatest
contentment.

When Black Carrie went out to unlock the chicken house door and fetch
wood for her morning fire, she screamed with fright as the young man in
his wretched plight stepped before her.

"G'long, yo--pore white trash!" she cried.

"I'm no poor white trash," he murmured. "Be Bishop Towah in the house?"

"Co'se he in de haouse. Whar yo s'poses he be dis time de mawnin'?" She
made with all haste toward her kitchen, bearing her armful of wood,
muttering as she went.

"I reckon I'll set hyar ontwell he kin see me," he said, dropping to the
doorstep in sheer exhaustion. And there he was allowed to sit while she
prepared breakfast in her own leisurely way, having no intention of
disturbing her "white folkses fer no sech trash."

The odor of coffee and hot cakes was maddening to the starving boy, as
he watched her through the open door, yet he passively sat, withdrawn
into himself, seeking in no way either to secure a portion of the food
or to make himself known. After a time, he heard faintly voices beyond
the kitchen, and knew the family must be there at breakfast, but still
he sat, saying nothing.

At last the door of the inner room was burst open, and a child ran out,
demanding scraps for her puppy.

"I may! I may, too, feed him in the dining room. Mamma says I may, after
we're through."

"Go off, honey chile, mussin' de flo' like dat-a-way fer me to clean up
agin. Naw, honey. Go out on de stoop wif yer fool houn' dog." And the
tiny, fair girl with her plate of scraps and her small black dog leaping
and dancing at her heels, tumbled themselves out where Frale sat.

Scattering her crusts as she ran, she darted back, calling: "Papa, papa!
A man's come. He's here." The small dog further emphasized the fact by
barking fiercely at the intruder, albeit from a safe distance.

"Yas," said Carrie, as the bishop came out, led by his little daughter,
"he b'en hyar sence long fo'