s wife. He had only to
sit by the poplar tree until little Dan could run and fetch her. But
after a while the other negroes discovered that Lucinda was meeting Free
Joe in the woods, and information of the fact soon reached Calderwood's
ears. Calderwood was what is called a man of action. He said nothing;
but one day he put Lucinda in his buggy, and carried her to Macon, sixty
miles away. He carried her to Macon, and came back without her; and
nobody in or around Hillsborough, or in that section, ever saw her
again.

For many a night after that Free Joe sat in the woods and waited. Little
Dan would run merrily off and be gone a long time, but he always came
back without Lucinda. This happened over and over again. The
"willis-whistlers" would call and call, like fantom huntsmen wandering
on a far-off shore; the screech-owl would shake and shiver in the depths
of the woods; the night-hawks, sweeping by on noiseless wings, would
snap their beaks as though they enjoyed the huge joke of which Free Joe
and little Dan were the victims; and the whip-poor-wills would cry to
each other through the gloom. Each night seemed to be lonelier than the
preceding, but Free Joe's patience was proof against loneliness. There
came a time, however, when little Dan refused to go after Lucinda. When
Free Joe motioned him in the direction of the Calderwood place, he would
simply move about uneasily and whine; then he would curl up in the
leaves and make himself comfortable.

One night, instead of going to the poplar tree to wait for Lucinda, Free
Joe went to the Staley cabin, and, in order to make his welcome good, as
he expressed it, he carried with him an armful of fat-pine splinters.
Miss Becky Staley had a great reputation in those parts as a
fortune-teller, and the schoolgirls, as well as older people, often
tested her powers in this direction, some in jest and some in earnest.
Free Joe placed his humble offering of light-wood in the chimney corner,
and then seated himself on the steps, dropping his hat on the ground
outside.

"Miss Becky," he said presently, "whar in de name er gracious you reckon
Lucindy is?"

"Well, the Lord he'p the nigger!" exclaimed Miss Becky, in a tone that
seemed to reproduce, by some curious agreement of sight with sound, her
general aspect of peakedness. "Well, the Lord he'p the nigger! hain't
you been a-seein' her all this blessed time? She's over at old Spite
Calderwood's, if she's anywheres, I reckon."