Suddenly Cato stopped, and turning, sped like a deer back to the veranda, and dodged in through the side entrance. How noiselessly the old man could move! William did not know that he had entered the hall until there was a soft touch on the elbow that was in the sling.
"Jasper Gates!" exclaimed the old man, whispering, with his face close to William's ear. "Hide yo'self. Don't go outside. Some folks is bringin' some one up here on a litter, and, 'fo' de Lawd, I do believe it's yo' brudder Mas'r George. Come quick. Hide in de big garret at de head ob de stairs. I'll help you git 'way 'fore mornin'. Don't stop to talk now, chile, but come 'long."
He led the way up the stairway two steps at a time. In a minute or so there was great confusion through the house.
Two men carrying a rough litter made of boughs came into the hall. They were preceded by the slouching figure of Adam Bent Knee, the old Indian, carrying a lantern. The men laid their burden on the floor before the fire.
Aunt Clarissa, in a quilted dressing-gown, came down the stairs. The light from the candle showed red through her fingers.
"Ugh! most froze," said the old Indian.
"It's Master George, ma'am," said one of the men who had carried the litter. "Old Adam found him in the snow a short way down the road. He's got a bad touch, surely."
The other man tapped his forehead significantly.
It was evident that something serious was amiss, for the poor figure on the litter murmured incoherently.
Aunt Polly, scared almost gray, had been awakened at last. She had given one look at the empty bed that William had left, and like a frightened, squawking hen flew down the hall. "Lawd fo'gib me, I done fall 'sleep," she said, "an' he must git 'way den. What's he don wiv dose close?"