the leaves. Fortunately for him, his fellow-workers are
not in a mood to observe these vagaries, or make inquiry as to the
cause.

He is rejoiced, when the boom of the evening bell summons them back to
the "big house."

Once more in the midst of his piccaninnies, with Phoebe by his side, he
imparts to her a renewed caution, to "keep dark on dat ere seerous
subjeck."

At supper, the two talk over the events of the day--Phoebe being the
narrator. She tells him of all that has happened--of the search, and
such incidents connected with it as have reached the plantation of the
Darkes; how both the old and young master took part in it, since having
returned home. She adds, of her own observation, that Massr Dick looked
"berry scared-like, an' white in de cheeks as a ole she-possum."

"Dats jess de way he oughter look," is the husband's response.

After which they finish their frugal meal, and once more retire to rest.

But on this second night, the terrible secret shared by them, keeps both
from sleeping. Neither gets so much as a wink.

As morning dawns, they are startled by strange noises in the negro
quarter. These are not the usual sounds consequent on the uprising of
their fellow-slaves--a chorus of voices, in jest and jocund laughter.
On the contrary, it is a din of serious tone, with cries that tell of
calamity.

When the coon-hunter draws--back his door, and looks forth, he sees
there is commotion outside; and is soon told its cause. One of his
fellow-bondsmen, coming forward, says:--

"Massr Dick am arrested by de sheriff. Dey've tuk 'im for de murder ob
Massr Charl Clancy."

The coon-hunter rushes out, and up to the big house.

He reaches it in time to see Richard Darke set upon a horse, and
conducted away from the place, with a man on each side, guarding him.
All know that he goes a prisoner.

With a sense of relief, Blue Bill hastens back to his own domicile,
where lie communicates what has happened to the wife anxiously waiting.

"Phoebe, gal," he adds, in a congratulatory whisper, "dar ain't no
longer so much reezun for us to hab fear. I see Sime Woodley mong de
men; and dis nigger know dat he'll gub me his purtecshun, whatsomever I
do. So I'se jess made up my mind to make a clean bress ob de hul ting,
and tell what I heern an' see, besides deliverin' up boaf dat letter an'
picter. What's yar view ob de matter? Peak plain, and doan be noways
mealy-moufed 'bout it."

"My views is den