"Everything they know, everything they do, everything they
say--everything--they have larnt from the white folks. Study a nigger
right close, an' you'll ketch a glimpse of how white folks would look
an' do wi'out the'r trimmin's."

"Oh, perhaps so," assented Mrs. Dorrington, with a little shrug of the
shoulders which said a good deal plainer than words, "You couldn't make
me believe that."

Just as Dr. Dorrington drove up, and just as Mrs. Absalom was about to
get her bonnet, for the purpose, as she said, of "scouring the town,"
Nan came running in out of breath. "Oh, such a time as I've had!" she
exclaimed. "You'll not be angry with me, Eugenia, when you hear all!
Talk of adventures! Well, I have had one at last, after waiting all
these years! Don't scold me, Nonny, until you know where I've been and
what I've done. And poor Johnny has been crying, and having all sorts of
wild thoughts about poor me. Don't go, Eugenia; I am going with you in a
moment--just as soon as I can gather my wits about me. I am perfectly
wild."

"Tell us something new," said Mrs. Absalom drily. "Here we've been on
pins and needles, thinkin' maybe some of your John A. Murrells had
rushed into town an' kidnapped you, an' all the time you an' that slink
of a nigger have been gallivantin' over the face of the yeth. I declare
ef Randolph don't do somethin' wi' you they ain't no tellin' what'll
become of you."

But Dr. Dorrington was not in the humour for scolding; he rarely ever
was; but on that particular night less so than ever. For one brief
moment, Nan thought he was too angry to scold, and this she dreaded
worse than any outbreak; for when he was silent over some of her capers
she took it for granted that his feelings were hurt, and this thought
was sufficient to give her more misery than anything else. But she soon
discovered that his gravity, which was unusual, had its origin
elsewhere. She saw him take a tiny tin waggon, all painted red, from his
pocket and place it on the mantel-piece, and both she and Mrs.
Dorrington went to him.

"Oh, popsy! I'm so sorry about everything! He didn't need it, did he?"

"No, the little fellow has no more use for toys. He sent you his love,
Nan. He was talking about you with his last breath; he remembered
everything you said and did when you went with me to see him. He said
you must be good."

Now, if Nan was a heroine, or anything like one, it would never do to
say that she hid her face in her hand