Down along the bayou where negro cabins were thickly set, fires were springing up; and there, running from place to place, following white men who bore torches, was Father Brennon.
"Don't burn this house!" he cried. "It belongs to the church."
"Damn the church!" a man replied.
"But this house belongs to an innocent man—he would not seek to kill the whites—he's gone to the hills."
"I reckon you are right," said the man, and onward he ran, waving his torch, the priest keeping close behind him.
From the woods the men were coming, and as Gid drew near to the Cranceford house he saw Jim Taylor passing through the gate; and a few moments later, turning a corner of the porch, he found the giant standing there with his arm about—Louise.
"Ho, the young rabbit!" the old man cried.
"Frog," she laughed, running forward and giving him both her hands.
"Why, how did you get here?" he asked.