the young mulatto.
Although he made an obedient step forward, his feelings overcame him and
with an audible snuffle and his hand over his eyes he retreated--then
turned his back and plunged through the hedge.

Mrs. Cary sank down on the step and looked as if she, too, would like to
cry.

Manfully, Uncle Billy came to her rescue. "Now don't you care, Miss
Hallie. He wan' no 'count for plowin' no how."

"Oh, it isn't that, Uncle Billy," Mrs. Cary replied with a low cry of
regret. "It isn't the actual loss of help, tho' we need it, goodness
knows. But it makes me sad to see them leaving, one by one. They are
such children and so helpless--without a master hand."

"Yas'm," agreed Uncle Billy readily. "An' de marster's han' ought to
have a hick'ry stick in it fer _dat_ nigger. Yas, bless Gawd. But you
got _me_, Miss Hallie," he announced proudly. "_I_ ain't runned away to
de blue-bellies yet."

"No, you dear old thing," Mrs. Cary cried with laughing relief, and her
hand rested on his shoulder in a gentle caress. "I'd as soon think of
the skies falling. It is just such faithful friends as you who help me
to fight the best."

"Um?" said Uncle Billy promptly, not quite understanding.

"I mean a woman's battles, Uncle Billy--the _waiting_ battles--that we
fight alone." Mrs. Gary rose to her feet and turned sadly away.

"Yas'm," agreed Uncle Billy. "I dunno what yo' talkin' 'bout but I spec'
you's right. Yas'm."

"Dear Uncle Billy," repeated Mrs. Gary, while her eyes filled with
tears. "The most truthful--the most _honest_--"

Mrs. Cary stopped and looked sharply at something lying on the ground
beside the steps. Then she turned and swept the old man with an accusing
glance which made him quail.

"_William!_" she said, in awful tones.

"Yas'm," replied Uncle Billy, feverishly.

"What's _that_?"

Uncle Billy immediately became the very picture of innocence and
ignorance. He looked everywhere but at the helpless rooster.

"What's what?" he asked. "Aw, dat? Why--why, dat ain' nothin' 'tall,
Miss Hallie. Dat's--dat's des a _rooster_. Yas'm."

Mrs. Cary came down from the steps and looked carefully at the
unfamiliar bird. No fear that she would not recognize it if it were
hers. "Whose is he?" she asked.

"You--you mean who he b'longs to?" queried Uncle Billy, fencing for time
in which to prepare a quasi-truthful reply. "He--he don' b'long to
_nobody_. He's his _own_ rooster."

"William!" commanded Mrs. Cary, se