Now do you
believe I can take him home?" said Nick.

"'Swounds!" said Mr. Fanning, when he had his breath. "You beat the
devil, Nicholas Temple. The next time you come to call I pray you leave
your travelling show at home."

"Mamma sent me for the militia," said Nick.

"She did!" said Mr. Fanning, looking grim. "An insurrection is a bad
thing, but there was no danger for two lads in the woods, I suppose."

"There's no danger anyway," said Nick. "The niggers are all scared to
death."

Mr. Fanning burst out into a loud laugh, stopped suddenly, sat down, and
took Nick on his knee. It was an incongruous scene. Mr. Fanning almost
cried.

"Bless your soul," he said, "but you are a lad. Would to God I had you
instead of--"

He paused abruptly.

"I must go home," said Nick; "she will be worried."

"SHE will be worried!" cried Mr. Fanning, in a burst of anger. Then he
said: "You shall have the militia. You shall have the militia." He rang
a bell and sent his steward for the captain, a gawky country farmer, who
gave a gasp when he came upon the scene in the hall.

"And mind," said Nick to the captain, "you are to keep your men away
from him, or he will kill one of them."

The captain grinned at him curiously.

"I reckon I won't have to tell them to keep away," said he.

Mr. Fanning started us off for the walk with pockets filled with
sweetmeats, which we nibbled on the way back. We made a queer
procession, Nick and I striding ahead to show the path, followed by
the now servile chief, and after him the captain and his twenty men
in single file. It was midnight when we saw the lights of Temple Bow
through the trees. One of the tired overseers met us near the kitchen.
When he perceived the Congo his face lighted up with rage, and he
instinctively reached for his whip. But the chief stood before him,
immovable, with arms folded, and a look on his face that meant danger.

"He will kill you, Emory," said Nick; "he will kill you if you touch
him."

Emory dropped his hand, limply.

"He will go to work in the morning," said Nick; "but mind you, not a
lash."

"Very good, Master Nick," said the man; "but who's to get him in his
cabin?"

"I will," said Nick. He beckoned to the Congo, who followed him over to
quarters and went in at his door without a protest.

The next morning Mrs. Temple looked out of her window and saw the
militiamen on the lawn.

"Pooh!" she said, "are those butternuts the soldiers that Nick we