I skips fo' de good o' yo' soul."

Ramsey stared. "Why did mom-a borrow her?"

"'Caze she couldn' buy heh. Yo' gramma she die' leavin' dat whole
Vicksbu'g place an' people, bawn an' unbawn, to yo' grampa, fo' to pass,
when he die', to y'uncle Dan, an' y'uncle Dan he wouldn' even 'a' loan'
Phyllis ef he could 'a' perwent. Humph-ummm! he tuck on 'bout his
'rights' like a sett'n' hen."

"But what did mom-a _want_ to borrow her for?"

"Well, I mowt say, fo' heh beauty; but ef I don't skip noth'n' I got to
say she 'llow to p'otect heh."

Ramsey stared again and suddenly fell into that soft, rippling laugh,
keen, merry, self-oblivious, which forty excusing adjectives would not
have excused to her nurse.

"Protect her from--from wha-at?" She rippled again.

"F'om herseff!--an' f'om him!--an' him f'om heh!--and de whole Hayle
fambly an' de law o' Gawd f'om bofe! An' she done it, yo' ma!--up to de
wery day he meet his awful en' in dat bu'nin' pilot-house, when----"

"Ah-h-h! what pilot-house? You never told me----"

"Anybody else eveh tol' you? No. Us Hayles-es ain't fon' o' dat story.
What I ain't tell you ain't be'n ripe to tell. I don't tell noth'n'
'tell it's ripe to tell, me!"

"Oh, it's dead ripe now. Go on, go on!--Burning pilot-house--my uncle
Dan--stop!... Hmm!... That's funny.... Why, mammy, how could he be my
uncle if he--was burnt up--before I was born?"

"Dat's yo' lookout. He wa'n't bu'nt up tell you wuz goin' on five. Yo'
mixin' his las' en' wid yo' grampa's."

"Oh, I see-ee! He was lost on the _Quakeress_!"

"Well, thaynky, ma'am! Yo' perceivin' powehs is a-gitt'n' ahead o' de
hounds. I wuz a-comin' to dat----"

Ramsey interrupted. Her cry of ecstasy was not for the breakfast bell,
which on the deck next below rang joyously up and down both guards and
died away in the ladies' cabin. It was for a vision that rose before her
and the _Votaress_; an illusion of the boat's whole speed being lost to
the boat and given to the shore. Suddenly the fair craft seemed to stop
and stand, foaming, panting, quivering like a wild mare, while the
green, gray-bearded, dew-drenched forest--island and mainland--amid a
singing of innumerable birds, glided down upon her, opening the chute to
gulp her in without a twang of her guys or a stain upon her beauty.

"Go on!" cried Ramsey, her eyes enthralled by the scene, her ears by the
story:--"Mom-a borrowed Phyllis--go on!"

"When yo' grampa gone," said Joy, "an' de w