nd here has a hot one. Dr. Johnson may
not care for Scotch blood, and yet I think a wee bit of it is not to be
despised."

I wondered whether Dr. Johnson was staying in the house, too.

How many slaves there were at Temple Bow I know not, but we used to see
them coming home at night in droves, the overseers riding beside them
with whips and guns. One day a huge Congo chief, not long from Africa,
nearly killed an overseer, and escaped to the swamp. As the day fell,
we heard the baying of the bloodhounds hot upon his trail. More ominous
still, a sound like a rising wind came from the direction of the
quarters. Into our little dining-room burst Mrs. Temple herself,
slamming the door behind her. Mr. Mason, who was sitting with us, rose
to calm her.

"The Rebels!" she cried. "The Rebels have taught them this, with their
accursed notions of liberty and equality. We shall all be murdered by
the blacks because of the Rebels. Oh, hell-fire is too good for them.
Have the house barred and a watch set to-night. What shall we do?"

"I pray you compose yourself, Madame," said the clergyman. "We can send
for the militia."

"The militia!" she shrieked; "the Rebel militia! They would murder us as
soon as the niggers."

"They are respectable men," answered Mr. Mason, "and were at Fanning
Hall to-day patrolling."

"I would rather be killed by whites than blacks," said the lady. "But
who is to go for the militia?"

"I will ride for them," said Mr. Mason. It was a dark, lowering night,
and spitting rain.

"And leave me defenceless!" she cried. "You do not stir, sir."

"It is a pity," said Mr. Mason--he was goaded to it, I suppose--"'tis a
pity Mr. Riddle did not come to-night."

She shot at him a withering look, for even in her fear she would brook
no liberties. Nick spoke up:--

"I will go," said he; "I can get through the woods to Fanning Hall--"

"And I will go with him," I said.

"Let the brats go," she said, and cut short Mr. Mason's expostulations.
She drew Nick to her and kissed him. He wriggled away, and without more
ado we climbed out of the dining-room windows into the night. Running
across the lawn, we left the lights of the great house twinkling behind
us in the rain. We had to pass the long line of cabins at the quarters.
Three overseers with lanterns stood guard there; the cabins were dark,
the wretches within silent and cowed. Thence we felt with our feet
for the path across the fields, stumbled over a sty,