Since Mr. Baron had yielded for the present, Mrs. Whately was glad nothing need be said to the physician concerning their affairs. His positive injunction of quiet was sufficient, and now that Mr. Baron was impressed with its need and had had time for sober second thought, he concluded that he had trouble enough on hand as it was. He felt that every quiet day gained was so much toward securing the absolutely essential crops. Perkins was therefore summoned and the situation in part explained.

The overseer was in unusual good-humor over the death of Scoville, and if Chunk had escaped finally, there was compensation in the thought of having no more disturbance from that source. So, fortunately for poor Zany, avarice came to the fore and Perkins agreed that the best thing to do was to bend every energy to "making the crops," using severity only in the furtherance of this end.

"Beg pardon, Mr. Baron, but I must have sump'n up and down clar. There's been so many bosses of late en my orders been knocked eendwise so of'en that I don't know, en the hands don't know whether I've got any po'r or no. Ef this thing 'bout Chunk gits out, en nobody punished, the fiel'-hans natchelly think we darsn't punish. Mought es well give up then."

"Punish as much as you think necessary to keep the quarter-hands at work. Then it is plain," replied Mr. Baron.

Very seldom had Perkins been in so complacent and exultant a mood as when he left the presence of Mr. Baron that morning. But his troubles began speedily. Jute had slept little the night before and was stupid and indifferent to his work in the afternoon. Finding threats had little effect, the overseer struck a blow with his cane. The negro turned fiercely but was confronted with a revolver. He resumed work doggedly, his sullen look spreading like the shadow of a cloud to the faces of the others. So many began to grow indifferent and reckless that to punish all was out of the question. Perkins stormed and threatened, striking some here and there, almost beside himself from increasing anxiety and rage. Whichever way he turned a dark vindictive face met his eyes. The slaves had enjoyed a brief sense and sweet hope of freedom; he was seeking to refasten the yoke with brutal hands and it galled as never before. Even his narrow arbitrary nature was impressed with the truth that a great change was taking place; that a proclamation issued hundreds of miles away was more potent than his heavy hand. He was as incapable of any policy other than force as was his employer of abandoning the grooves in which his thoughts had always run.

The worrisome afternoon finally ended, leaving the harassed man free to seek consolation from his jug. Mr. Baron relapsed into his quiet yet bitter mental protest. "Ole miss" maintained inexorable discipline over the yard and house slaves, keeping all busy in removing every stain and trace of the hospital. She governed by fear also, but it was the fear which a resolute, indomitable will produces in weaker natures.

Mrs. Waldo already felt uncomfortable. There was no lack of outward courtesy, but the two women had so little in common that there was almost a total absence of sympathy between them. The guests through the fortune of war resolved therefore to depart in a day or two, making the journey home by easy stages. Mrs. Whately was both polite and cordial, but she also felt that the family should be alone as soon as possible, that they were facing problems which could better be solved without witnesses. It was her hope now to nurse her charge back to health, and, by the utmost exercise of tact, gain such an ascendency over the girl as to win her completely. Granting that the matron's effort was part of a scheme, it was one prompted by deep affection, a yearning to call her niece daughter and to provide for the idolized son just the kind of wife believed to be essential to his welfare. Much pondering on the matter led her to believe that even if the tidings of Scoville's death had been the cause of the final prostrating shock, it was but the slight blow required to strike down one already feeble and tottering to her fall. "He probably made a strong, but necessarily a passing impression on the dear child's mind," she reasoned. "When she gets well she will think of him only as she does of the other Union soldiers who so interested her."

The object of this solicitude was docile and quiet, taking what was given her, but evidently exhausted beyond the power of thought or voluntary action.

The night passed apparently without incident, but it was a busy one for Chunk. He again summoned Jute and his other confederates to a tryst in the grove to impress them with his plans. It was part of his scheme to permit a few nights to pass quietly so that disturbances would not be associated with him, he being supposed far away. In the depths of the adjacent forest he had found safe shelter for himself and horse, and here, like a beast in its lair, he slept by day. The darkness was as light to him about the familiar plantation, and he prowled around at night unmolested.

During this second meeting he attempted little more than to argue his dusky associates out of their innate fear of spooks and to urge upon them patience in submitting to Perkins's rule a little longer. "I des tells you," he declared, "dey ain' no spooks fer us! Dere's spooks on'y fer dem w'at kills folks on de sly-like. If ole Perkins come rarin' en tarin' wid his gun en dawg, I des kill 'im ez I wud a rattler en he kyant bodder me no mo'; but ef I steal on 'im now en kill 'im in he sleep he ghos pester me ter daith. Dat de conslomeration ob de hull business. I doan ax you ter do any ting but he'p me skeer' im mos' ter daith. He watchin' lak a ole fox ter ke'p you en Zany yere. Ef you puts out, he riz de kentry en put de houn's arter you. We des got ter skeer 'im off fust. I'm studyin' how ter git dat dawg out'n de way. Des go on quiet few mo' days en ef you year quar noises up on de hill whar de sogers bur'ed you know hit me. Look skeered lak de oders but doan be fear'd en keep mum."

The next few days and nights passed in quiet and all began to breathe more freely. Even Aun' Jinkey rallied under the soothing influence of her pipe and the privilege of watching part of each day with Miss Lou. Slowly the girl began to grow better. Hoping not even for tolerance of her feelings in regard to Scoville, it was her instinct to conceal them from her relatives. She knew Mrs. Waldo would not reveal what Aun' Jinkey had told her, and understood the peculiar tenderness with which that lady often kissed her. She also guessed that while the stanch Southern friend had deep sympathy for her there was not very strong regret that the affair had ended in a way to preclude further complications.

"Remember, my dear," said Mrs. Waldo, in her affectionate parting, "that God never utterly impoverishes our lives. Only we ourselves can do that. You will get well and become happy in making others happy."

On the evening of that day, even Mr. Baron's routine was completely restored. His larder was meagre compared with the past, but with the exception that Mrs. Whately occupied the place of his niece at the table, and viands were fewer, all was as it had been. Zany's fears had subsided, leaving her inwardly chafing at the prospect of monotonous and indefinite years of work under "ole miss," with little chance of Chunk's return. Aun' Suke's taste of freedom had not been to her mind, so she was rather complacent than otherwise, and especially over the fact that there was so little to cook. The garden and Mr. Baron's good credit would insure enough plain food till the crops matured and the impoverishment caused by the raid was repaired. It certainly seemed when the sun set that evening that the present aspect of affairs might be maintained indefinitely in the little community.

Only one was not exactly at rest. Perkins felt as if something was in the air. There was a brooding, sullen quiet among the negroes which led him to suspect that they were waiting and hoping for something unknown to him. This was true of Uncle Lusthah and the majority. The crack of Union rifles was the "soun' f'um far away" they were listening for. By secret channels of communication tidings of distant battles were conveyed from plantation to plantation, and the slaves were often better informed that their masters. As for Perkins, he knew next to nothing of what was taking place, nor did he dream that he was daily addressing harsh words to conspirators against his peace.

The time had come when Chunk was ready to act. On the night in question a hot wind arose which blew from the little burial-place on the hill toward the house. "Hi! now's de charnce ter fix dat ar bizness!" and he made his preparations. Shortly before midnight he crept like a cat under the overseer's window. The heavy snoring rose and fell reassuringly, sweet as music to Chunk's ears. Not so the angry, restless growling of the savage bloodhound chained within. "But you doan kotch me dis yere time fer all yer fuss, Marse Grip," the negro muttered. "I done hab yer brekfus' ready fer yer! Dat'll settle yer hash,' and with deft hand a piece of poisoned meat was tossed close to the brute's feet as Chunk hastened away. Jute was next wakened and put on the watch. An hour later there came from the soldiers' cemetery the most doleful, unearthly sounds imaginable. No need for Jute and his confederates to arouse the other negroes in the quarters. A huddled frightened gang soon collected, Aun' Jinkey among them so scared she could not speak.

"Marse Perkins ought to know 'bout dis," cried Jute.

The suggestion was enough. The whole terror-stricken throng rushed in a body to the overseer's cottage and began calling and shrieking, "Come out yere! come out yere!" Confused in his sudden waking and thinking he was mobbed, he shouted through the window, "I'll shoot a dozen of yer ef yer don't clar out."

"Marse Perkins, des you lis'n," rose in chorus from those far beyond the fear of mortal weapons.

In the silence that followed the rushing wind bore down to them a weird, dismal howl that in Perkins's ears met every ghostly requirement. His teeth began to chatter like castanets, and snatching his jug of corn whiskey he swallowed great draughts.

"We des tink you orter know 'bout dis," said Jute.

"Cert'ny," cried Perkins in his sudden flame of false courage. "I'll light a lantern and take twenty o' you hands round that place. Ef thar's a cuss yonder makin' this 'sturbance we'll roast 'im alive."

In a moment or two he dressed and came out with a light and his gun. Two revolvers were also stuck in his belt. As he appeared on the threshold there was a prolonged yell which curdled even his inflamed blood and sent some of the negro women into hysterics.

"Come on," shouted the overseer hoarsely, "thirty of yer ef yer afraid."

The crowd fell back. "We ain' gwine ter dat ar spook place, no mattah w'at you do to us."

"Perkins, what IS the matter?" Mr. Baron was heard shouting from the house.

"Reckon you better come out yere, sir."

"Are the hands making trouble?"

"No sir, sump'n quar's gwine on, what we kyant mek out yit."

Mr. Baron, wrapped in his dressing-gown, soon appeared on the scene, while Aun' Suke's domain contributed its quota also of agitated, half-dressed forms. Chunk could not resist the temptation to be a witness to the scene and in a copse near by was grinning with silent laughter at his success.

After learning what had occurred, Mr. Baron scoffed at their superstitions, sternly bidding all to go to their places and keep quiet. "Perkins, you've been drinking beyond reason," he warned his overseer in a low voice. "Get back to your room quick or you will be the laughing-stock of everybody! See here, you people, you have simply got into a panic over the howling of the wind, which happens to blow down from the graveyard to-night."

"Neber yeared de win' howl dataway befo'," the negroes answered, as in a mass they drifted back to the quarters.

Perkins was not only aware of his condition but was only too glad to have so good an excuse for not searching the cemetery. Scarcely had he been left alone, however, before he followed the negroes, resolved upon companionship of even those in whom he denied a humanity like his own. In the darkness Chunk found an opportunity to summon Jute aside and say, "Free er fo' ob you offer ter stay wid ole Perkins. Thet he'p me out."

Perkins accepted the offer gladly, and they agreed to watch at his door and in the little hallway.

"You mus' des tie up dat ar dawg ob yourn," first stipulated Jute.

"Why, whar in—is the dog? Hain't yeared a sound from 'im sence the 'sturbance begun."

"Dwags kyant stan' spooks nohow," remarked Jute.

"I've yeared that," admitted Perkins, looking around for the animal.

"Thar he is, un'er yo' baid," said Jute, peeking through the doorway.

The miserable man's hair fairly stood up when the brute was discovered stark and dead without a scratch upon him. Recourse was again had to the jug, and oblivion soon followed.