“Why, de Lor’ A’mighty bress us!  Come in, chile.  What is you standin’ out dar for?  Come in, I tol’ you.”  And Frank was seized by the arm and pulled into the cabin, and the door was closed carefully behind him.

“Stop dat ‘ar fiddlin’, ole man,” continued the woman, addressing herself to an aged negro, who was seated in an easy chair in the chimney corner; “stop dat ‘ar fiddlin’, an’ git up an’ give young massa dat cheer.”

“I don’t wish to give you any trouble,” said Frank.  “I’m not the least bit tired; but I would like something to eat.”

“No trouble ’t all, chile,” said the old woman.  “Now, don’t you go talkin’ ’bout trouble, I knows who you is.  Set down dar.”  And the old woman pointed to the chair which the man had vacated.  “I’ll give you somethin’ to eat, right away.  Pomp, ole man, git up an’ cut some o’ dat ham;” and the woman bustled about in a state of considerable excitement.

Frank hid his rifle behind a coat which hung in one corner of the cabin, and was about to take possession of the chair, when hasty steps were heard on the walk leading to the cabin.

“Gorry mighty!” exclaimed the old negro, in alarm, “dar come de oberseer.  Git under the bed—­quick, young massa.  You’ll be safe dar—­quick.”

Frank had hardly time to act upon this suggestion, when the door suddenly opened, and a shaggy head appeared.

“Haven’t you had your supper yet, Pomp, you black rascal?” inquired the overseer, witnessing the preparations for cooking that were going on.

“I’s only been home a few minutes, massa,” answered Pomp.

“Well, hurry up, then.  I came here,” continued the overseer, “to tell you that there is a Yankee prowling around here somewhere; if he comes here, I want you to send for me.  Do you understand?”

“Yes, massa,” answered Pomp.

“Don’t you feed him, or do any thing else for him,” continued the overseer.  “If you do, I’ll whip you to death.  Now, mind what I tell you.”  And the overseer closed the door, and departed, to carry the same information and warning to the other cabins.

As soon as the sound of his footsteps had died away, Pomp whispered: 

“All right now, young massa.  You can come out now—­no danger.  The oberseer won’t come to dis house g’in dis night.”

Frank, accordingly, crawled out from under the bed, and seated himself in the easy chair, while the old woman went on with her cooking.  In a few minutes, which seemed an age to Frank, however, the meal, which consisted of coffee, made of parched corn, ham, honey, and corn-bread, was ready.  Frank thought he had never eaten so good a meal before.  He forgot the danger of his situation, and listened to the conversation of the old negro and his wife, as though there was not a rebel within a hundred miles of him.

“There,” he exclaimed, after he had finished the last piece of corn-bread, and pushed his chair back from the table, “I believe I’ve eaten supper enough to satisfy any two men living.”