s and pine-straw, spread them in the bottom of the cart. He
stooped, lifted her frail form in his arms, and laid it on the leafy
bed. Cutting a couple of hickory withes, he arched them over the cart,
and gathering an armful of jessamine quickly wove it into an awning to
protect her from the sun. She was quieter now, and seemed to fall
asleep.

"Go ter sleep, honey," he murmured caressingly, "go ter sleep, an'
Frank'll take you home ter yo' mammy!"

Toward noon he was met by a young white man, who peered inquisitively
into the canopied cart.

"Hello!" exclaimed the stranger, "who've you got there?"

"A sick woman, suh."

"Why, she's white, as I'm a sinner!" he cried, after a closer
inspection. "Look a-here, nigger, what are you doin' with this white
woman?"

"She's not w'ite, boss,--she's a bright mulatter."

"Yas, mighty bright," continued the stranger suspiciously. "Where are
you goin' with her?"

"I'm takin' her ter Patesville, ter her mammy."

The stranger passed on. Toward evening Frank heard hounds baying in
the distance. A fox, weary with running, brush drooping, crossed the
road ahead of the cart. Presently, the hounds straggled across the
road, followed by two or three hunters on horseback, who stopped at
sight of the strangely canopied cart. They stared at the sick girl and
demanded who she was.

"I don't b'lieve she's black at all," declared one, after Frank's brief
explanation. "This nigger has a bad eye,--he's up ter some sort of
devilment. What ails the girl?"

"'Pears ter be some kind of a fever," replied Frank; adding
diplomatically, "I don't know whether it's ketchin' er no--she's be'n
out er her head most er de time."

They drew off a little at this. "I reckon it's all right," said the
chief spokesman. The hounds were baying clamorously in the distance.
The hunters followed the sound and disappeared m the woods.

Frank drove all day and all night, stopping only for brief periods of
rest and refreshment. At dawn, from the top of the long white hill, he
sighted the river bridge below. At sunrise he rapped at Mis' Molly's
door.

Upon rising at dawn, Tryon's first step, after a hasty breakfast, was
to turn back toward Clinton. He had wasted half a day in following the
false scent on the Lillington road. It seemed, after reflection,
unlikely that a woman seriously ill should have been able to walk any
considerable distance before her strength gave out. In her delirium,