nce found himself concocting the most preposterous perjuries
touching the famous saddlebags and the babies, but it seemed to delight
little Martha all the more as these perjuries became more and more
preposterous.

For reasons, however, which we at this subsequent period can
appreciate, this confabulation could not last for aye, and when,
finally, little Martha trotted back homeward Lawrence bethought himself
it was high time to reconnoiter the immediate scene of action within
his house. He found a group of servants huddled about the door.
Chloe, Becky, Ann, Snowdrop, Pearl, Susan, Tilly--all, usually cheerful
and smiling, wore distressful countenances now. Nor did they speak to
him as had been their wont. They seemed to be afraid of him, yet what
had _he_ done--what had he _ever_ done that these well-fed,
well-treated slaves should shrink from him in his hour of trouble?

It was still gloomier inside the house. Aunt Lizzie and Miss Bettie,
the nurses, had taken supreme charge of affairs. At this moment Aunt
Lizzie, having brewed a pot of tea, was regaling Mistress Carter and
Mistress Fairfax and the venerable Miss Dorcas Culpeper, spinster, with
a desultory but none the less interesting narrative of her performances
on countless occasions similar to the event about to take place. The
appearance of Lawrence well-nigh threw Miss Culpeper into hysterics,
and, to escape the dismal groans, prodigious sighs, and reproachful
glances of the others, Lawrence made haste to get out of the apartment.
The next room was desolate enough, but it was under Mary's room and
there was _some_ comfort in knowing _that_. Yet the nearer Lawrence
came to Mary's room the more helpless he grew. He could not explain
it, but he was lamentably weak and miserable. A strange fear undid him
and he fairly trembled.

"I will go up and ask if there is anything I can do," he said to
himself, for he was ashamed to admit his cowardice.

But his knees failed him and he sat down on the stairs and listened and
wished he had never been born.

Oh, how quiet the house was. Lawrence strained his ears to catch a
sound from Mary's room. He could hear a faint echo of the four
chattering women in the front chamber below, but not a sound from
Mary's room. Now and then a shrill cry of a jay or the lowing of the
oxen in the pasture by the creek came to him from the outside
world--but not a sound from Mary's room. His heart sank; he would have
given the