the tiny adventurers. As he stared up
the street, Peter caught the glint of these invisible airships whisking
away to whatever chance might hold for them. There was something epic in
it. It recalled to the mulatto's mind some of Fabre's lovely
descriptions. It reminded him of two or three books on entomology which
he had left in his mother's cabin. He felt he ought to go after them
while the spiders were migrating. He suddenly made up his mind he would
go at once, as soon as he had had dinner; somewhere about one o'clock.

He looked again at the Arkwright house. The thought of walking down the
street with Cissie, to get his books, quickened his heart.

He was still at the window when his door opened and old Rose entered
with his dinner. She growled under her breath all the way from the door
to the table on which she placed the tray. Only a single phrase detached
itself and stood out clearly amid her mutterings, "Hope it chokes you."

Peter arranged his chair and table with reference to the window, so he
could look up the street while he was eating his dinner.

The ill-wishing Rose had again furnished a gourmet's meal, but Peter's
preoccupation prevented its careful and appreciative gustation. An
irrational feeling of the octoroon's imminence spurred him to fast
eating. He had hardly begun his soup before he found himself drinking
swiftly, looking up the street over his spoon, as if he meant to rush
out and swing aboard a passing train.

Siner checked his precipitation, annoyed at himself. He began again,
deliberately, with an attempt to keep his mind on the savor of his food.
He even thought of abandoning his little design of going for the books;
or he would go at a different hour, or to-morrow, or not at all. He told
himself he would far better allow Cissie Dildine to pass and repass
unspoken to, instead of trying to arrange an accidental meeting. But the
brown man's nerves wouldn't hear to it. That automatic portion of his
brain and spinal column which, physiologists assert, performs three
fourths of a man's actions and conditions nine tenths of his volitions--
that part of Peter wouldn't consider it. It began to get jumpy and
scatter havoc in Peter's thoughts at the mere suggestion of not seeing
Cissie. Imperceptibly this radical left wing of his emotions speeded up
his meal, again. He caught himself, stopped his knife and fork in the
act of rending apart a broiled chicken.

"Confound it! I'll start when she com