"You think my hair worth more than eight dollars?" I asked, amused.
"H'it sho'ly am, suh."
"But why eight dollars, Cato?"
"Das what the redcoats say; eight dollars fo' one rebel scalp, suh."
I sat up, horrified. "Who told you that?" I demanded.
"All de gemmen done say so--Mars' Varick, Mars' Johnsing, Cap'in Butler."
"Bah! they said it to plague you, Cato," I muttered; but as I said it I saw the old slave's eyes and knew that he had told the truth.
Sobered, I dressed me in my forest dress, absently lacing the hunting-shirt and tying knee-points, while the old man polished hatchet and knife and slipped them into the beaded scabbards swinging on either hip.
Then I went out, noiselessly descending the stairway, and came all unawares upon the young folk and the children gathered on the sunny porch, busy with their morning tasks.
They neither saw nor heard me; I leaned against the doorway to see the pretty picture at my ease. The children, Sam and Benny, sat all hunched up, scowling over their books.