ing sun. Down in the
ravine behind the house he caught the ring of a hammer on an anvil and
closer in the sweep of a carpenter's plane over a board. A colt was
calling to his mother at the stables and he could hear the chatter and
cries of the stable boys busy with the morning feed.

He rose, stepped gingerly beside the sleepers on the floor and stood by
an open window. His mind was stirring with a curious desire to see the
ghost that haunted this house, its spacious grounds and fields. He,
too, had read _Uncle Tom's Cabin_, and wondered. The ghost must be here
hiding in some dark corner of cabin or field--the ghost of deathless
longing for freedom--the ghost of cruelty--the ghost of the bloodhound,
the lash and the auction block.

Somehow he couldn't realize that such things could be, now that he was
a guest in a Southern home and saw the bright side of their life. Never
had he seen anything brighter than the smiles of those negro musicians
as they proudly touched their instruments: the violin, the banjo, the
flute, the triangle and castanets, and watched the dancers swing through
each number. There could be no mistake about the ring of joy in Sam's
voice. It throbbed with unction. It pulsed with pride. Its joy was
contagious. He caught himself glancing at his rolling eyes and swaying
body. Once he muttered aloud:

"Just look at that fool nigger!"

But somewhere in this paradise of flowers and song birds, of music and
dance, of rustling silk, of youth and beauty, the Ghost of Slavery
crouched.

In a quiet way he would watch for it to walk. He had to summon all his
pride of Section and training in the catch words of the North to keep
from falling under the charm of the beautiful life he felt enfolding
him.

He no longer wondered why every Northern man who moved South forgot
the philosophy of the Snows and became a child of the Sun. He felt the
subtle charm of it stealing into his heart and threw off the spell with
an effort.

A sparrow chirped under the window. A redbird flashed from a rosebush
and a mocking bird from a huge magnolia began to softly sing his morning
love song to his mate.

He heard a yawn, turned and saw Custis rubbing his eyes.

"For heaven's sake, Phil, why don't you sleep?"

"Tried and can't."

"Don't like your bed?"

"Too much excited."

"One of those girls hooked you?"

"No. I couldn't make up my mind. So many beauties they rattled me."

"All right," Custis said briskly. "Let's