"They are free enough already," he replied, looking sharply at me as we walked along the path.

"I'm not free," I rejoined. "I belong to you."

Then he looked at me proudly. "Yes," he said, "and we will have lots of fun. When we get big, we'll get some great long guns and go out and kill Indians, and if anybody tries to shoot you, I'll shoot him. Won't I?"

"Yes, and I'll shoot anybody that tries to shoot you."

We had crossed the bars where the cows stood at evening waiting to nourish their calves, and were going toward the stone spring-house, when we met Old Miss.

"Robert," she said, "run and find your father, quick! Your sister Lou is sick."

Bob turned to go back, and so did I, but she called me. "Dan, you are not going. Go over to Aunt Mag's cabin and stay there until you are sent for."

I sat in the cabin door and watched the old woman spin. She gave me a bowl of bread and milk, and she told me that whenever I was mistreated to slip into her house and hide under her bed. "I'm treated all right," I remember to have replied. And I recollect also to have declared that I fought when they did not treat me well. "You'se er monstus brave little man," she said, pausing at the door to pat me on the head. "Fo' gracious, whut's de matter up at de house? Look at de folks all runnin' er roun'? Go up dar an' see."

I was afraid to go in, believing, and not without cause, that Old Miss would tap me on the head with her big store-room key, and I hung about the door that opened out upon the long veranda. Everything was quiet save the mocking-bird in his cage hung in the hall. But a moment later I heard the well-known feet of Old Master, pacing up and down. I peeped in and saw Dr. Bates walking toward the door, and I ran away and went back to Aunt Mag's cabin. Old Silvy, the cook, took down the long horn, with a snake and a deer's head carved upon it, and blew a blast for dinner, and then the men and the plow horses came through the big gate, with trace-chains jangling. I wondered what could have become of Bob. It was rare, indeed, that we were so long separated. Aunt Mag gave me another bowl of bread and milk, and I sat there on the doorstep, watching the sun-mark slowly moving round the house. The men went back to work. I dozed off to sleep and was aroused with a shake. I looked up and saw a girl hastening up the path toward the house. Old Aunt Mag was standing over me. "Dan'l," she said, looking down upon me, "po' Miss Lou is gone—she died jest now."

The goodness and the sweetness of that fair young woman rushed upon me, and I could not see for the tears that gushed to my eyes. In a moment I recounted her kindness and her winsome smile—she had never spoken a cross word to me. I had lost a protecting friend. Under a tree I lay with my face buried in the grass, sobbing. An arm stole about my neck. I looked up. Bob lay beside me.