ide, as a child does when it hears a sound in the dark. "I went for
this wrapper, and would you believe it, I did not waken either of them!
Mother sleeps very lightly, too!"

"You have performed quite a feat," I assured her, at once put at ease by
her genuineness. "Have you planned anything for to-morrow?"

"Father has some sheep on the lower farm that are sick, and I am going
to take them some salt, because that is good for their blood."

"May I help you salt the sheep? I'll carry the salt, if you will let me
go."

She turned her head sideways, with a slight uplifting of the brows, as
though hesitating.

"Ye-e-e-s, I guess so," she replied at last, doubtfully. "Do you know
anything about sheep?"

"Nothing more than I have read. They are very docile, I believe, and a
great many of our clothes come from their backs."

"But that isn't all." There was the wisdom of Solomon on the fresh young
face, shadowed by disarranged tresses. "Some of them have horns, like a
cow, only they grow back instead of out. And they'll run you sometimes,
when they take a notion. Can you run, Mr. Stone?"

The picture which came to my mind of the staid and dignified Abner Stone
flying across a meadow with coat-tails streaming, and an irate ram at
his heels, brought a broad smile to my face.

"Yes; I _can_ run. But I promise not to desert you if danger comes."

"Then be ready in the morning. I will say good-night again, for I know
you must tell this day's doings to your pipe before you retire."

Our entire conversation at the foot of the stair had been in low
whispers, and I whispered back her good-night, and turned to go. Then,
like Lot's wife, I looked behind me. She had reached the first landing,
where the stairway curved. She saw me, and peered forward, holding the
candle above her head. The loose sleeve of her dress fell back with the
motion, and the bare symmetry of her rounded forearm gleamed upon the
blackness like ivory upon ebony. I waved my hand; she waved hers, then
was gone.

I sank into a chair and bowed my head in my hands, my soul torn by the
pangs of a new birth.

XII

Only a few old negroes were astir when I stepped from the house the next
morning. Even the master had not arisen. The stars and the sun's
forerunners were having a battle on the broad field overhead; one by one
the stars were vanquished and their lamps extinguished. I stood upon the
lowest step of the flight in front of the house, and watche