ef! You a friend of
Caesar's! Whar's my money?--My money you stole from Caesar? You come
talkin' to me 'bout rec'nition? I done rec'nize you, you black nigger.
Let me get at him, Marse Gabelle."

The old woman swept toward him with so threatening an air that Graeme
interposed, and the preacher retreated behind him for protection. Even
that place of security did not, however, save him from her vitriolic
tongue. She poured out on him the vials of her wrath till Graeme,
fearing she might drop down in a faint, stopped her.

"Stop now. I will settle with him."

His authoritative air quieted her, but she still stood glowering and
muttering her wrath.

"You will have that money back here by to-morrow at this hour or I will
put you in the penitentiary, where you have already been once and ought
to be now. And now you will take my cigars out of your pocket, or I will
hand you to that policeman out there at the door. Out with them."

"Boss, I ain't got no cigars o' yo's. I 'll swar to it on de wud o'----"

"Out with them--or--" Mr. Graeme turned to open the door. The negro,
after a glance at Mam' Lyddy, slowly took several cigars from his
pockets.

"Dese is all de cigars I has--and dey wuz given to me by a friend," he
said, surlily.

"Yes, by my little boy. I know. Lay them there. I will keep them till
to-morrow. And now go and get that money."

"What money?--I can't git dat money--dat money is invested."

"Then you bring the securities in which it is invested. I know where
that money went. You go and rob some one else--but have that money at my
office to-morrow before three o'clock or I 'll put you in jail to-morrow
night. And if you ever put your foot on this place or speak to that old
woman again, I 'll have you arrested. Do you understand!"

"Yes, sir."

"Now go." He opened the door.

"Officer, do you recognize this man!"

"Yes, sir, I know him."

"Well, I am going to let him go for the present"

The Rev. Amos was already slinking down the street. Mr. Graeme turned to
the old woman.

"You want recognition?"

"Nor, suh, I don't" She gave a whimper. "I wants my money. I wants to
git hold of dat black nigger what 's done rob me talkin' 'bout bein'
sich a friend o' Caesar's."

"Do you want to go home?"

"Dis is my home." She spoke humbly, but firmly.

Two days afterward Mrs. Graeme said:

"Cabell, Mammy is converted. It is like old times."

"I think it will last," said her husband. "She is out four