at an interesting time. The Gaylord ha'nt has reappeared."

"The Gaylord ha'nt!" I exclaimed in astonishment. "What on earth is
that?"

Radnor laughed.

"One of our godless ancestors once beat a slave to death and his ghost
comes back, off and on, to haunt the negro cabins. We hadn't heard
anything of him for a good many years and had almost forgotten the
story, when last week he reappeared. Devil fires have been seen dancing
in the laurels at night, and mysterious moanings have been heard around
the cabins. If you have ever had anything to do with negroes, you can
know the state our servants are in."

"Well!" said I, "that promises entertainment. I shall look forward to
meeting the ha'nt."

We had reached the house by this time, and as we drew up before the
portico the Colonel stood on the top step waiting to welcome me. He was
looking much as I remembered him except that his hair had turned from
black to white, and his former imperious bearing had become a trifle
querulous. I jumped out and grasped his outstretched hand.

"I'm glad to see you, my boy! I'm glad to see you," he said cordially.

My heart warmed toward the old man's "my boy." It had been a good many
years since anyone had called me that.

"You've grown since I saw you last," he chuckled, as he led the way into
the house through the group of negro servants who had gathered to see me
arrive.

My first fleeting glimpse through the open doors told me that it was
indeed true, as Radnor had said, nothing had changed. The furniture was
the same old-fashioned, solidly simple furniture that the house had
contained since it was built. I was amused to see the Colonel's gloves
and whip thrown carelessly on a chair in the hall. The whip was the one
token by which I remembered him.

"So you've been working too hard, have you, Arnold?" the old man
inquired, looking me over with twinkling eyes. "We'll give you something
to do that will make you forget you've ever seen work before! There are
half a dozen colts in the pasture just spoiling to be broken in; you may
try your hand at that, sir. And now I reckon supper's about ready," he
added. "Nancy doesn't allow any loitering when it's a question of beat
biscuits. Take him up to his room, Rad--and you Mose," he called to one
of the negroes hanging about the portico, "come and carry up Marse
Arnold's things."

At this one of them shambled forward and began picking up my traps which
had been dumped in a pile on