ide as large a stone as I could comfortably throw, and took station
on the fence. As the furious animal came charging, with his head
lowered, I struck him by a good fortune between the eyes, and Nicholas
got over. We were standing on the far side, watching him pawing the
broken bow, when, in the crowd of frightened negroes, we discovered the
parson beside us.

"David," said he, patting me with a shaking hand, "I perceive that you
have a cool head. Our young friend here has a hot one. Dr. Johnson may
not care for Scotch blood, and yet I think a wee bit of it is not to be
despised."

I wondered whether Dr. Johnson was staying in the house, too.

How many slaves there were at Temple Bow I know not, but we used to see
them coming home at night in droves, the overseers riding beside them
with whips and guns. One day a huge Congo chief, not long from Africa,
nearly killed an overseer, and escaped to the swamp. As the day fell, we
heard the baying of the bloodhounds hot upon his trail. More ominous
still, a sound like a rising wind came from the direction of the
quarters. Into our little dining-room burst Mrs. Temple herself, slamming
the door behind her. Mr. Mason, who was sitting with us, rose to calm
her.

"The Rebels!" she cried. "The Rebels have taught them this, with their
accursed notions of liberty and equality. We shall all be murdered by
the blacks because of the Rebels. Oh, hell-fire is too good for them.
Have the house barred and a watch set to-night. What shall we do?"

"I pray you compose yourself, Madame," said the clergyman. "We can send
for the militia."

"The militia!" she shrieked; "the Rebel militia! They would murder us as
soon as the niggers."

"They are respectable men," answered Mr. Mason, "and were at Fanning Hall
to-day patrolling."

"I would rather be killed by whites than blacks," said the lady. "But
who is to go for the militia?"

"I will ride for them," said Mr. Mason. It was a dark, lowering night,
and spitting rain.

"And leave me defenceless!" she cried. "You do not stir, sir."

"It is a pity," said Mr. Mason--he was goaded to it, I suppose--"'tis a
pity Mr. Riddle did not come to-night."

She shot at him a withering look, for even in her fear she would brook no
liberties. Nick spoke up:--

"I will go," said he; "I can get through the woods to Fanning Hall--"

"And I will go with him," I said.

"Let the brats go," she said, and cut short Mr. Mason's expostulations.
She drew