had expected he would
know.

"No," he replied, "I don't think so. I shall have to go."

"It is impossible, impossible, Yes!" cried Leon, throwing up his hands
in protest. "I told Monsieur your father that it was impossible for him.
And for you----"

A graphic shrug completed the sentence.

Stuart felt a sinking at the pit of his stomach, for he was no braver
than most boys. But the twist of his determination held him up.

"Leon," he said, trying to keep his voice steady, though he felt it
sounded a little choked, "isn't there the juice of some root which will
turn the skin brown, nearly black?"

"But, Yes, the plavac root."

The Haitian peered at the boy.

"You would make yourself a black man?" he continued.

Stuart ignored argument.

"Can you get some? Tonight? Right away?"

"Ah, well; you know--" Leon began.

The boy interrupted him sharply.

"If my father told you to get some, you would get it," he declared
peremptorily.

This was a shrewd guess, for, as a matter of fact, there were a number
of reasons why Leon should do what Mr. Garfield told him. The negro, who
had no means of finding how much or how little the boy knew, shrugged
his shoulders hugely, and, with a word of comment, left the house,
carrying a lantern. He was back in half an hour with a handful of small
plants, having long fibrous roots. These he cut off, placed in a pot,
covering them with water, and set the pot on the stove over a slow fire.

"It will not come off the skin as easily as it goes on, No!" he warned.

"Time enough to think about that when I want to take it off," came the
boy's reply.

The decoction ready, Leon rubbed it in thoroughly into Stuart's skin. It
prickled and smarted a good deal at first, but this feeling of
discomfort soon passed away.

"It won't rub off?" queried Stuart.

Leon permitted himself a grim pleasantry.

"Not against a grindstone!"

This positive assertion was as reassuring in one way as it was
disquieting in another. Stuart did not want to remain colored for an
indefinite period of time. In his heart of hearts he began to wonder if
he had not acted a little more hastily, and that if he had asked for
Leon's advice instead of ordering him around, he might have found some
milder stain. But it was too late to repent or retract now. His skin was
a rich coffee brown from head to foot, and his dark eyes and black hair
did not give his disguise the lie.

"I'm going to bed," he next announced,