“Wha’ ‘s that yo’ say, yo’ young Marster?” she thundered.

“Go—­go—­good nigger,” stuttered the chubby face and smiled.  With that he was swept from the cab into Mrs. Leighton’s arms, and Mammy, grinning from ear to ear, caught him by one fat leg and demanded in soft negro tones: 

“Wha’ fo’ you call yo’ mammy ‘bad niggah,’ young Marster?  Ho! ho!  ‘Go—­go—­good niggah!’ Did yo’ hea’ him, Mis’ Ann?”

Shenton and Natalie jumped up and down, with, cries of “Please, Mother,” and “Muvver, oh, please!” Mrs. Leighton set Lewis on his feet between them.  Shenton held out his hand.  “How d’ ye.”

“How do do,” replied Lewis, gravely.  Natalie was plucking at his arm.  He turned to her.  They were almost of a size, but to Natalie he towered an inch above her.  She held up her lips, and he kissed them.  Then they stood and stared at each other.  Natalie’s short forefinger found its way to her mouth.

“My dwess is wumpled,” she said.

“I got a dog at home,” declared Lewis—­“a big dog.”

CHAPTER III

To Natalie, Shenton, and Lewis the scant twenty acres that surrounded Consolation Cottage was a vast demesne.  Even on a full holiday one could choose one’s excursions within its limits.  From the high-plumed wall of bamboos that lined Consolation Street, through the orange-grove, across the hollow where were stable and horses, cows and calves, then up again to the wood on the other hillside—­ah, that was a journey indeed, never attempted in a single day.  They chose their playground.  To-day the bamboos held them, to-morrow the distant grove, where were pungent fruits, birds’-nests, fantastic insects, and elusive butterflies and moths.

Then there was the brier-patch, with its secret chamber.  By dint of long hours of toil and a purloined kitchen-knife they had tunneled into a clearing in the center of the thicket.  Of all their retreats, this one alone had foiled their watchful overseers.  Here was held, undetected, many an orgy over stolen fruit.

Nor did they have to seek far for a realm of terror.  Behind the brier-patch was the priest’s wall.  Over it was wafted the fragrance of unknown flowers and of strange fruits—­and the barking of a fierce dog.  With the same kitchen-knife they pried loose a brick and slipped it out.  They took turns at peeking through this tiny window on a strange world.  What ecstasy when first they glimpsed the flat-hatted, black-robed figure strolling in the wondrous garden!  Then terror seized them, for the quick-eyed priest had seen the hole, and before they could flee his toe was in it, and his frowning face, surmounted by the flaring hat, popped above the wall and glared down upon them.

“Do you hear my dog?” whispered the priest.

It was Natalie, trembling with fright, who answered, feeling a certain kinship for anything in skirts.