ike I run inter all de gullies en on top er all de stumps
'twix' dis en Marse Tip's. I des tuk'n drapt eve'ything, I did, en tole
um dey'd batter keep one eye on de dinner-pot, kaze I 'blige ter run en
see Marse Peyton off."

The gentleman laughed as the motherly-looking old negro wiped her face
with her apron. Her sleeves were rolled up, and her fat arms glistened
in the sun.

"I boun' you some er deze yer folks'll go off en say I'm 'stracted," she
cried, "but I can't he'p dat; I bleeze ter run down yer ter tell Marse
Peyton good-by. Tell um all howdy fer me, Marse Peyton," she cried, "all
un um. No diffunce ef I ain't know um all--'tain't gwine ter do no harm
fer ter tell um dat ole Jincy say howdy. Hit make me feel right foolish
in de head w'en it comes 'cross me dat I use ter tote Miss Hallie 'roun'
w'en she wuz a little bit er baby, en now she way down dar out'n de
worl' mos'. I wish ter de Lord I uz gwine 'long wid you, Marse Peyton!
Yit I 'speck, time I got dar, I'd whirl in en wish myse'f back home."

The negro boy carried the gentleman's valise into the sleeping-coach,
and placed it opposite the seats occupied by Helen and her aunt. Across
the end was stenciled in white the name "Peyton Garwood." When the train
was ready to start, the gentleman shook hands with the negro woman and
with the boy. The woman seemed to be very much affected.

"God A'mighty bless you, Marse Peyton, honey!" she exclaimed as the
train moved off; and as long as Helen could see her, she was waving her
hands in farewell. Both Helen and her aunt had watched this scene with
considerable interest, and now, when the gentleman had been escorted to
his seat by the obsequious porter, they regarded him with some
curiosity. He appeared to be about thirty-five years old. His face would
have been called exceedingly handsome but for a scar on his right cheek;
and yet, on closer inspection, the scar seemed somehow to fit the firm
outlines of his features. His brown beard emphasized the strength of his
chin. His nose was slightly aquiline, his eyebrows were a trifle rugged,
and his hair was brushed straight back from a high forehead. His face
was that of a man who had seen rough service and enjoyed it keenly--a
face full of fire and resolution with some subtle suggestion of
tenderness.

"She called him 'Master,' Helen," said Miss Tewksbury after a while,
referring to the scene at the station; "did you hear her?" Miss
Tewksbury's tone implied wrath