action if he should break his promise to Nan
Dorrington by purchasing a jug of liquor and crawling into the nearest
shuck-pen. It was on this warm Saturday, the least promising of all
days, as he thought, that he stumbled upon an adventure which, for a
season, proved to be both interesting and amusing.

He was walking along, as has been said, feeling very blue and
uncomfortable, when he heard his name called, and, turning around, saw a
negro girl running after him. She came up panting and grinning.

"Miss Ritta say she wish you'd come dar right now," said the girl. "I
been runnin' an' hollin atter you tell I wuz fear'd de dogs 'd take
atter me. Miss Ritta say she want to see you right now."

The girl was small and very slim, bare-legged and good-humoured. Mr.
Sanders looked at her hard, but failed to recognise her; nor had he the
faintest idea as to the identity of "Miss Ritta." The girl bore his
scrutiny very well, betraying a tendency to dance. As Mr. Sanders tried
in vain to place her in his memory, she slapped her hands together, and
whirled quickly on her heel more than once.

"You're a way yander ahead of me," he remarked, after reflecting awhile.
"I reckon I've slipped a cog some'rs in my machinery. What is your
name?"

"I'm name Larceeny. Don't you know me, Marse Billy? I use ter b'long ter
de Clopton Cadets, when Miss Nan was de Captain; but I wan't ez big den
ez I is now. I been knowin' you most sence I was born."

"What is your mammy's name?"

"My mammy name Creecy," replied the girl, grinning broadly. "She cookin'
fer Miss Ritta."

Mr. Sanders remembered Creecy very well. She had belonged to the Gaither
family before the war. "Where do you stay?" he inquired. He was not
disposed to admit, even indirectly, that he didn't know every human
being in the town.

"I stays dar wid Miss Ritta," replied Larceeny. "I goes ter de do', an'
waits on Miss Nugeeny."

"Ah!" exclaimed Mr. Sanders, with a smile of satisfaction. Here was a
clew. Miss Nugeeny must be Eugenia Claiborne, and Miss Ritta was
probably her mother.

"Miss Ritta say she wanter see you right now," insisted Larceeny. "When
she seed you on de street, you wuz so fur, she couldn't holla at you,
an' time she call me outer de gyarden, you wuz done gone. I wuz at de
fur een' er de gyarden, pickin' rasbe'ies, an' I had ter drap
ever'thing."

"Do you pick raspberries with your mouth?" inquired Mr. Sanders, with a
very solemn air.

"Is my mouf da