porch, and leaning her white arms upon the railing, looked towards the
dazzling blue waters of the Chesapeake. Presently an idea came to her.
She went swiftly into the hall, and called for Darkeih. When that
handmaiden appeared:--

"Darkeih, go down to the quarters, and tell the first man you meet to
find Woodson, and send him to me."

Darkeih departed, and in half an hour's time the overseer appeared at
the foot of the porch steps, red and heated from his rapid walk from the
Three-Mile field.

"What's wrong, Mistress Patricia?" he asked quickly.

Patricia opened her lovely eyes. "Nothing is wrong, Woodson. What
should be? I sent for you, because I want to go to Rosemead."

"To Rosemead!" exclaimed the overseer.

"Yes, to Rosemead, and I want a couple of men to take me."

The overseer gave a short, vexed laugh. "I can't spare the men, Mistress
Patricia. You ought to have known that every man jack on the plantation
is busy cutting. If I had a known this was all that was wanted! Fegs! I
thought something dreadful was the matter."

"Something dreadful is the matter," said the young lady calmly. "I am
bored to death."

"Sorry for ye, missy, but I can't spare the men."

"Oh, yes, you can!" said Patricia with unruffled composure.

The overseer, knowing his lady, began to weaken.

"Anyhow, you wouldn't want two men. You might go on a pillion behind old
Abraham. I could spare _him_."

"I shall not go a-horseback. 'Tis too hot and dusty. I shall go in one
of the sail-boats--the Bluebird, I think."

"Now, in the name of all that's contrary, what do you want to do that
for, Mistress Patricia?" cried the harassed overseer. "It's twice as far
by water."

"I'll reach Rosemead before dark. The men can bring the boat back
to-night, and Major Carrington will send me home on a pillion
to-morrow."

"Have you forgotten that to-morrow is Sunday?" said the overseer
severely, and with a new-born anxiety for the proper observance of the
holy day. "Will you have the Colonel pay a fine for you?"

"I will go to service with the Carringtons then, and come home on
Monday," said the lady serenely.

"There's a squall coming up this afternoon."

"There isn't a cloud in the sky," said his mistress with calm
conviction, looking straight before her at a low, tumbled line of creamy
peaks along the horizon.

"If the Colonel were here--"

"He would say, 'Woodson, do exactly as Mistress Patricia tells you.'"
This with great swee