The lieutenant bowed politely, and the two passed into the house, leaving Fairfield to sit down again with another shrug at the interruption that left him once more to his boredom. Presently, to his mild surprise, he perceived young Charles Carroll hurrying through the shrubbery in the distance, across the road.
"Carroll! Oh, Carroll!" shouted Fairfield; but, if the boy heard him, he made no reply, merely quickening his pace a little till he was out of sight.
As a matter of fact, young Charles did not want to hear. It was for Deborah that he had come to the plantation, and he was going to seek her in the spot where she was most likely to be found. Having happily escaped the continued notice of Sir Charles, he reached the back of the Trevor house, and there came upon the object of his search, seated, Turk-fashion, by the still-room door, surrounded by a group of black, wide-eyed pickaninnies, to whom she had been telling ghost-stories in their own dialect. It was one of her favorite forms of amusement when she was a little lonely; and the small mental effort required in concocting the endless tales was more than compensated for by the unwavering devotion to her of every black imp on the place. It was no great acquisition, perhaps, to one's acquaintance, but it was one of Mistress Travis' pleasures, and one not yet forbidden by Madam Trevor.
"SURROUNDED BY A GROUP OF PICKANINNIES"
Young Carroll was close upon her before he was perceived; and when she beheld his expression, she burst into so sudden a peal of laughter that her audience jumped in terror, imagining it to be the latest demoniacal accomplishment of the ghost. At sight of Master Carroll, however, they realized that their afternoon was over, and all but one ran off to the quarters. This small fellow, Sambo by name, aged five, elegantly clad in a brown holland shirt that was many shades lighter than his skin, clung to Miss Debby's arm, pleading for more; for he was court favorite, and might do as he chose.
"I'm so glad you've come, Charles," she said, holding out a hand, which he clasped and shook as he might a man's.
"I have the pinnace. Can you come sailing now?"
"Oh yes! I've finished my spinning"—she made a little grimace—"and the knitting, and have crushed two bushels of rose-leaves for distilling, and have told three ghost-stories—and now I may sail, I think."