k. But he answered, as sharply
as he knew how: "I's goin' a-fishin'. Any ob youah business?"

"Where'd you learn to fish?" the stranger asked. "Down South? Didn't
know they had any there."

"Nebbah was down Souf," was the surly reply.

"Father run away, did he?"

"He nebber was down dar, nudder."

"Nor his father?"

"'T aint no business o' your'n," said Dick; "but we's allers lived
right heah on dis bay."

"Guess not," replied the white boy, knowingly.

But Dick was right, for his people had been slaves among the very
earliest Dutch settlers, and had never "lived South" at all. He was
now busily getting one of the boats ready to push off; but his white
tormentor went at him again with--

"Well, then, if you've lived here so long, you must know everybody."

"Reckon I do."

"Are there any nice fellows around here? Any like me?"

"De nicest young genelman 'round dis bay," replied Dick, "is Mr. Dab
Kinzer. But he aint like you. Not nuff to hurt 'im."

"Dab Kinzer!" exclaimed the stranger. "Where did he get his name?"

"In de bay, I spect," said Dick, as he shoved his boat off. "Caught
'im wid a hook."

"Anyhow," said the strange boy to himself, "that's probably the sort
of fellow my father would wish me to associate with. Only it's likely
he's very ignorant."

And he walked away toward the village with the air of a man who had
forgotten more than the rest of his race were ever likely to find out.

At all events, Dick Lee had managed to say a good word for his
benefactor, little as he could guess what might be the consequences.

Meantime, Dab Kinzer, when he went out from breakfast, had strolled
away to the north fence, for a good look at the house which was
thenceforth to be the home of his favorite sister. He had seen it
before, every day since he could remember; but it seemed to have a
fresh and almost mournful interest for him just now.

"Hullo!" he exclaimed, as he leaned against the fence. "Putting up
ladders? Oh yes, I see! That's old Tommy McGrew, the house-painter.
Well, Ham's house needs a new coat as badly as I did. Sure it'll fit,
too. Only it aint used to it any more'n I am."

"Dabney!"

It was his mother's voice, and Dab felt like "minding" very promptly
that morning.

"Dabney, my boy, come here to the gate."

"Ham's having his house painted," he remarked, as he joined his
mother.

"Is he?" she said. "We'll go and see about it."

As they drew nearer, however, Dabney discovered