"Nothing. It's a joke, I tell you——"
"But the Ku Klux Klan ain't no joke!" persisted Peeler. "More than a thousand of 'em—some say five thousand—paraded the county two weeks ago. A hundred of 'em passed my house. I saw their white shrouds glisten in the moonlight. I said my prayers that night! I says to myself, if it don't do no good, at least it can't do no harm. I tell you, the Klan's no joke. If you think so, take a walk through that crowd in the Square to-day and see how quiet they are. Last court day every nigger that could holler was makin' a speech yellin' that old Thad Stevens was goin' to hang Andy Johnson, the President, from the White House porch, take every foot of land from the rebels and give it to the Loyal Black League. Now, by gum, there's a strange peace in Israel! I felt it this mornin' as I walked through them crowds—and comin' back to this coffin, major, the question is—what shall I do to be saved?"
"Go home and forget about it," was the smiling answer. "The Klan didn't send that thing to you or write that message."
"You think not?"
"I know they didn't. It's a forgery. A trick of some devilish boys."
Peeler scratched his red head:
"I'm glad you think so, major. I'm a thousand times obliged to you, sir. I'll sleep better to-night after this talk."
"Would you mind leaving this little gift with me, Peeler?" Norton asked, examining the neat workmanship of the coffin.
"Certainly—certainly, major, keep it. Keep it and more than welcome! It's a gift I don't crave, sir. I'll feel better to know you've got it."
The yellow woman waited beside the door until Peeler had passed out, bowed her thanks, turned and followed her master at a respectful distance.