CHAPTER VI.
I hid about the place during the day, sometimes peeping at the doctor from the hay-loft, sometimes dodging behind a cabin to keep out of his way, constantly wishing that Old Master might come; and late in the afternoon I saw him walking in the garden with his hands behind him. The doctor was not far away, and I knew that he would discover me if I should dart out from my hiding place, but I did finally and he yelled at me, but I ran to Old Master, looking back in fright as I approached him.
"Tut, tut, there!" he cried. "What are you running about this way for, tramping down everything? First thing you know I'll give you another whipping within an inch of your life!"
"Marster!" I cried, clinging to him, "the doctor is after me!"
"Well, he won't get you. Turn me loose. Hang about near me, but don't let your mistress see you. The doctor's going away to-morrow to be gone some time. Here he comes now. Go on to the house."
I passed the doctor, skirting far into a flower bed to give him plenty of room; he glowered at me and said nothing. But I knew that he would let slip no opportunity to harm me, and that night Bob and I barricaded our door. He had an old horse pistol that wouldn't shoot, and I had a broken saber, and we took turn about standing guard behind our breast-works. "You've been there long enough. Come on and lie down and let me stay there awhile?" he would say; and he never failed to add: "And you must pretend like you're asleep."
At morning I awoke in bed and found Bob asleep behind the barricade. I aroused him, and he jumped up and declared that he had stood guard all night, and hadn't slept a wink. I pretended to believe him, and he rewarded me with a crock marble and a biscuit covered with sugar.
Early that morning I had the satisfaction of seeing my enemy, the doctor, leave the plantation, and then followed a day of happiness, playing up and down the creek. At the house one other enemy was left, Old Miss, but I did not hate her, for her dislike of me could be none other than a divine right, something which I would not permit myself to question. She was cold and proud, and rarely did she give way to the affection which she must have felt for her own children. It was said that she could trace her origin back to great warriors, and this gave a reason for her pride and her coldness; but Old Master's forefathers also were great fighters and statesmen, and yet he was warm-hearted and sympathetic. Aunt Mag told me that Old Miss had refused to marry Henry Clay because he was poor, and had always regretted it, but I could not see why, for surely my master was as great as Clay.