Lily’s wanderings during her flight from the Alabama plantation had made her alert and watchful of every woodland noise and sign. Since Berry had not come down the ridge with Mr. Arnold, Lily was sure she had followed a wandering path leading to the summit, and the negro girl sped swiftly along. At first she thought of calling her young mistress’s name, but her instinct for silence prevented this, and, as she found herself facing the ledge where Berry was held prisoner by the rock that had slipped against her ankles, Lily had no impulse to cry out. As quietly as Berry herself she crept down close to the ledge, and noticing the thread of smoke a dreadful fear took possession of her.

“Lak as not it’s fo’ks a-huntin’ fer me. My lan’! W’ot I better do?” was her first thought; then her eyes turned toward the girl clinging to the ledge, the girl who had been the first to speak kindly to the fugitive slave girl, and instantly Lily recalled all Berry’s kindness had meant to her, and she forgot her fears for her own safety, and thought only of her young mistress.

“She be ’fraid ob dat man a-campin’ down dar,” she instantly decided, as peering from behind a sheltering tree she discovered Orson, still intent on his roasting bird. Lily crept up the ledge, whispering softly: “Missie Berry—Missie Berry,” and Berry turned her head to find Lily’s hand near her shoulder.

Without a word Berry pointed to the heavy rock resting against her ankles, and then toward the camp beneath the ledge, and shook her head solemnly, and Lily promptly understood that Berry feared to be discovered. Lily nodded her understanding of the message and cautiously worked her way to a place where she could make an effort to release Berry’s feet. Pulling with all her strength she was able to raise the heavy stone so that Berry could draw herself free from its hold, and then, noiselessly as before, the negro girl lowered the stone gently back, and the two girls crept down the ledge and were soon safely in the shelter of the forest. Neither of them had spoken a single word since Lily’s whisper when she reached the ledge.

But now Berry turned quickly to her companion and said gratefully: “Oh, Lily! What would I have done if you had not found me! And how clever you were to come so quietly! That’s the man who threatened me near the brook, before you came,” she added as they hurried up the rough slope.

“Dat man a-searchin’ af’er me!” Lily declared solemnly. “Oh, Missie Berry, don’ let him tek me! He’s de kin’ dat sells black fo’ks. I’se seen black fo’ks all chain’ togedder, Missie Berry, a-standin’ at railway stations to be tuk off.” And Lily trembled at the thought of being discovered.

At that moment, before Berry could reply, Mr. Arnold’s shrill whistle reached their ears and Berry instantly responded, and Lily had only time to say: “Don’ say a wud ’bout dat man; don’, Missie Berry! Promise!” she pleaded so urgently that Berry agreed.

“But I know he isn’t after you, Lily,” she added, as they ran forward to meet Mr. Arnold.

“Oh, Father! I got my feet caught in a ledge, and Lily helped me out,” she explained hurriedly; “and we’re both hungry.”

Mrs. Arnold had contrived to keep the potatoes hot, and the two girls made an excellent lunch, while Berry told of finding the trillium blossom, and of climbing a ledge, and a rock rolling against her ankles.

“Lily came just in time, and moved the rock so gently that my ankles don’t hurt a bit,” said Berry; while Lily listened, fearful that some careless word might betray the secret. But Mrs. Arnold hurried them all toward home, as the March day was drawing toward sunset, and on the way Berry found a chance to tell Lily that the man they had seen was probably a Confederate spy. “My father says that General Beauregard has a Confederate army at Corinth, and probably this man is watching to see if General Grant’s soldiers are coming this way,” she explained to the frightened negro girl, and her explanation was the right one. Orson knew that numbers of Confederate soldiers were daily arriving from Mississippi, Louisiana and Alabama, in regiments, squads, or unarmed and singly at Corinth. All these were being formed into the Confederate army of the Mississippi, with General Johnston in supreme command, and with the brave and accomplished Beauregard as second. Supplies for this army reached Corinth over all railroads. Spies were bringing daily reports of the progress of Grant’s army, and of General Buell’s rapid approach from Columbia; and Orson was lurking along the roads from Pittsburg Landing to Corinth, ready to carry, or send, instant news of any approach of the enemy over these roads.

But Lily shook her head over Berry’s explanation.

“He luk jes’ lak de men dat hunt af’er de run’way niggers!” she insisted, and so Berry again agreed not to tell her father of her discovery of the camping spy.

Orson knew of the Arnolds’ cabin, but kept a good distance from it, although he believed it the cabin of some industrious mountaineer who was, without doubt, loyal to the Confederacy. He had seen Lily and Berry more than once, unseen by them, and supposed Lily to be a negro boy, owned by the Arnolds. He meant, at the right moment, to send “Berry Nees” speeding over the road to Corinth with news for General Beauregard. He kept a nightly watch by the “witch-tree” to see if Berry had brought the sweets that would mean a midnight visit, and, on the second evening after the Arnolds’ visit to the maple grove, his watch was rewarded: for close against the trees rested a number of small packages.

Orson had no scruples in examining these. One contained a glass tumbler filled with honey, over which the spy chuckled, thinking it would be an acceptable addition to his somewhat limited food supply. In another package was a square of maple-sugar, made from the fresh syrup. There was also a small square cake, sweetened with maple-sugar, that Berry had persuaded her mother to make for her that morning. For Berry had noticed that the red-buds were beginning to fade, the leaves rapidly covering such blossoms as remained, and, by cautiously questioning Lily, she discovered that unless the tree were in bloom the witches were not apt to visit them, and she realized she must lose no time in asking their help for news of Mollie.

Berry found no trouble in carrying her gifts to the red-buds near the stream, for that afternoon Lily had gone with Mrs. Arnold to bring home the syrup that Mr. Arnold had made, leaving Berry alone in the cabin. And she collected her supplies and hastened off to leave them at the red-buds, in order that the witches might not fail to find them on their arrival, and she was resolved to be on hand when the witches appeared at midnight, although she was a little fearful that it might not be an easy matter to keep awake until the time came to leave the cabin, or to creep out without being discovered by her mother or father. Nevertheless she was resolved to make the attempt, for it seemed to Berry as if she could get news from Mollie in no other way than through the friendly help of witches, who were new possibilities in Berry’s experience.

The sky clouded over before Mrs. Arnold and Lily returned, and by sunset a strong wind was sweeping along the ridge.

“Dis am a reg’lar witch’s night! I ’clar ter goodness if ’tain’t!” said Lily, as Berry helped her wash the supper dishes. “De win’ am a-shreekin’ an’ a-hollerin’ jes’ de way witches lik’s,” continued Lily; “dey’ll all be out ter-night, I specs,” and she rolled her eyes solemnly and shook her head.

Berry made no response. She heard the wind moaning and shrieking, as the big branches of the forest trees bent before it, and began to dread the undertaking that was before her. She was so quiet in the early evening that her mother was sure Berry must be more tired than usual, and suggested that the little girl go to bed. Lily had already gone to her room, and Mrs. Arnold declared that she herself was too sleepy to sit up, and at an unusually early hour the lights in the little cabin were extinguished, and the entire household, excepting Berry, were fast asleep.

In her own room, still fully dressed, Berry sat on the edge of her bed waiting for the clock to strike eleven, the time she had set to leave the cabin. More than once she dozed off, to wake with a sudden start fearful lest she had overslept. But when the clock in the sitting-room sounded the hour of eleven Berry was wide awake. Her window, that opened outward on hinges, was already partly open, and Berry’s moccasin-covered feet made no noise as she crossed the room, cautiously swung the latticed window wide open and fastened it back, and then, reaching out, grasped the strong branch of the big oak tree, that grew close to the cabin, and fearlessly swung herself clear of the window-sill.

Berry had done this many times; it was no new exploit for the little girl to scramble along the stout branch and down the trunk of the oak tree to a secure footing on the slope of the ravine below her window; she stood silent a moment, looking up at the cabin. Then, sure that no one had heard her quiet escape, she crept up to the trail and was off toward the witches’ tree.

The wind swept against her, and the trees of the forest creaked and swayed: the night was too dark even for shadows, and Berry, with a little thrill of fear, recalled Lily’s words that it “was a reg’lar witch’s night.”

As she neared the brook she saw a tiny light near the place where she had left her gifts, and stopped suddenly; then, remembering that Lily had said witches usually carried tiny lanterns, she drew a long breath, and stepped boldly forward, bowing very low, according to Lily’s directions, and putting both hands over her eyes: for Lily had said it would be a fatal thing to let your eyes rest upon a witch.