His voice was very faint and his hands very cold

“Don’t talk any more now,” I said, chafing them in mine, while I wondered perplexedly how I should get him home.  Presently he spoke again: 

“But de papehs is all right, seh.  I hilt on to ‘um, sho’.  Dey—­dey couldn’t git ’um nohow, wid all de smahtniss,” he said, with feeble triumph.  “Dey’s right yeah in my wescut pocket.”  Then he added, with a sudden change of tone:  “But I’d like to go home, Mist’ Dunkin; Ailse’ll be oneasy ’bout me.”

I had to leave him with the boy while I went for a doctor and a vehicle, neither of which was easy to be had, but finally a milk-wagon was pressed into service, and although the mob had gathered together again, and were besieging the depot, yet, after some delay, we succeeded in conveying him to his home.  I saw him safe in bed, his hurt dressed; then, after bestowing a reward upon the colored boy, who had rendered me such efficient service, I left him in charge of the doctor and his wife.

The latter was a small, plump yellow woman, with large, gentle black eyes, and the soft voice so often found among Virginia “house” servants.  After watching her as she assisted the surgeon to dress the wound, I came to the conclusion all of her talents were by no means “bound up in napkins,” and I went home assured my faithful old messenger was left in very capable hands.

Next morning, directly after breakfast, I sallied forth to inquire concerning his condition.  After passing along the crowded thoroughfares, where everybody was occupied with the riot, it was a relief to find myself turning into the obscure little street where he lived.

“Here, at least, everything seems peaceful enough,” I said, aloud, as I approached the house.  I was just in the act of placing my foot on the one door-step, when the door was thrown violently open, and a tall black woman bounced out, colliding with me as she passed, her superior momentum thrusting me backward across the narrow pavement into the street.  She was too excited to heed my exclamation of astonishment.  I don’t think she saw me, even, for she turned immediately and faced some one standing in the doorway, whom I now perceived to be Ailse, looking dreadfully frightened.

“Good-mornin’, Mis’ Wheatley,” said the Amazon, with withering sarcasm; “good-mornin’, madam.  I think you’ll know it the nex’ time I darkens your doors, I think you will.  Served me right, though, we’en I demeaned myself to come; I might ‘a’ knowed what treatment I’d ‘eceive from you.  Ef I hadn’t ben boun’ by solemn class-rules to pay some ’tention to Brother Wheatley’s immortal soul “—­these words were uttered at the very top of her voice—­“you wouldn’t ‘a’ caught me comin’; but I’ll never come ag’in, never; so make yourself easy, Mis’ Wheatley.”

A shade of relief passed over Ailse’s features as this assurance was repeated, and I coming forward at this moment, the representative of the church militant betook herself off, while I entered and spoke to Ailse, who, fairly dazed, sank into a chair, and stared me helplessly in the face.  There was a moment’s silence, when she suddenly rose and offered me a seat, remarking, as she did so, that “Sisteh Ma’y Ann Jinkins ca’in’ on so” made her forget her manners.