“Do you think I would have him in my house?” cried Virginia.
Miss Russell was likewise courageous—“I don't see why not. You have Judge Whipple every Sunday dinner, and he's an Abolitionist.”
Virginia drew herself up.
“Judge Whipple has never insulted me,” she said, with dignity.
Puss gave way to laughter. Whereupon, despite her protests and prayers for forgiveness, Virginia took to her mare again and galloped off. They saw her turn northward on the Bellefontaine Road.
Presently the woodland hid from her sight the noble river shining far below, and Virginia pulled Vixen between the gateposts which marked the entrance to her aunt's place, Bellegarde. Half a mile through the cool forest, the black dirt of the driveway flying from Vixen's hoofs, and there was the Colfax house on the edge of the gentle slope; and beyond it the orchard, and the blue grapes withering on the vines,—and beyond that fields and fields of yellow stubble. The silver smoke of a steamboat hung in wisps above the water. A young negro was busily washing the broad veranda, but he stopped and straightened at sight of the young horsewoman.
“Sambo, where's your mistress?”
“Clar t' goodness, Miss Jinny, she was heah leetle while ago.”
“Yo' git atter Miss Lilly, yo' good-fo'-nuthin' niggah,” said Ned, warmly. “Ain't yo' be'n raised better'n to stan' theh wif yo'mouf open?”
Sambo was taking the hint, when Miss Virginia called him back.