"Darkeih, go down to the quarters, and tell the first man you meet to find Woodson, and send him to me."
Darkeih departed, and in half an hour's time the overseer appeared at the foot of the porch steps, red and heated from his rapid walk from the Three-Mile field.
"What's wrong, Mistress Patricia?" he asked quickly.
Patricia opened her lovely eyes. "Nothing is wrong, Woodson. What should be? I sent for you, because I want to go to Rosemead."
"To Rosemead!" exclaimed the overseer.
"Yes, to Rosemead, and I want a couple of men to take me."
The overseer gave a short, vexed laugh. "I can't spare the men, Mistress Patricia. You ought to have known that every man jack on the plantation is busy cutting. If I had a known this was all that was wanted! Fegs! I thought something dreadful was the matter."
"Something dreadful is the matter," said the young lady calmly. "I am bored to death."
"Sorry for ye, missy, but I can't spare the men."
"Oh, yes, you can!" said Patricia with unruffled composure.