"Here I am, Marse John," said Mithridates, making his appearance with an armful of wood, which he threw upon the fire; for the April morning was chilly.
"Taters," said Uncle John, "you see to having the pony-chaise at the door at half-past twelve precisely to take Mr. Alden and Miss Laura to Blue Cliffs."
"Yes, Marse John."
"And, Taters, you saddle Brown Bill to ride and wait on them. You hear?"
Taters turned dark-gray and staggered to a chair and sat down.
"Why, what's the matter with the fool now?" demanded Uncle John.
"Oh, Marse John, don't send me to Blue Cliffs no more, sir—please don't!"
"Why—why shouldn't I send you there, you idiot?"
"Oh, Marse John, I done see the sperrit of my young mist'ess there; and if I see it ag'in I shall die—'deed I shall, sir!" exclaimed the shuddering boy.
"What the mischief does he mean, Laura? You look as if you understood him," inquired John Lytton.