a sob that
would rise, and clutching my mother's gown tight under my arm. Had my
father left me alone in our cabin for a fortnight, I should not have
minded. But here, in this strange house, amid such strange surroundings,
I was heartbroken. The old negro was very kind. He led me into a little
bedroom, and placing the candle on a polished dresser, he regarded me
with sympathy.

"So you're Miss Lizbeth's boy," said he. "An' she dade. An' Marse Alec
rough an' hard es though he been bo'n in de woods. Honey, ol' Breed'll
tek care ob you. I'll git you one o' dem night rails Marse Nick has, and
some ob his'n close in de mawnin'."

These things I remember, and likewise sobbing myself to sleep in the
four-poster. Often since I have wished that I had questioned Breed of
many things on which I had no curiosity then, for he was my chief
companion in the weeks that followed. He awoke me bright and early the
next day.

"Heah's some close o' Marse Nick's you kin wear, honey," he said.

"Who is Master Nick?" I asked.

Breed slapped his thigh.

"Marse Nick Temple, Marsa's son. He's 'bout you size, but he ain' no mo'
laik you den a Jack rabbit's laik an' owl. Dey ain' none laik Marse Nick
fo' gittin' into trouble-and gittin' out agin."

"Where is he now?" I asked.

"He at Temple Bow, on de Ashley Ribber. Dat's de Marsa's barony."

"His what?"

"De place whah he lib at, in de country."

"And why isn't the master there?"

I remember that Breed gave a wink, and led me out of the window onto a
gallery above the one where we had found the master the night before. He
pointed across the dense foliage of the garden to a strip of water
gleaming in the morning sun beyond.

"See dat boat?" said the negro. "Sometime de Marse he tek ar ride in dat
boat at night. Sometime gentlemen comes heah in a pow'ful hurry to git
away, out'n de harbor whah de English is at."

By that time I was dressed, and marvellously uncomfortable in Master
Nick's clothes. But as I was going out of the door, Breed hailed me.

"Marse Dave,"--it was the first time I had been called that,--"Marse
Dave, you ain't gwineter tell?"

"Tell what?" I asked.

"Bout'n de boat, and Marsa agwine away nights."

"No," said I, indignantly.

"I knowed you wahn't," said Breed. "You don' look as if you'd tell
anything."

We found the master pacing the lower gallery. At first he barely glanced
at me, and nodded. After a while he stopped, and began to put to me many
qu