“Yes, sir.  I’ve been sick, and am not quite fit to work.  Sickness is hard on a working man, sir.”

Grey, a kindly person, put his hand in his pocket, “Quite right, it is hard.  How are the people here going to vote?  I hope the good old ticket.”

“Oh!  Buchanan and Breckenridge, sir, except one or two and the darkey barber.  He’s a runaway—­I guess.  Been here these three or four years.  Squire likes him because he’s clever about breaking colts.”

“Indeed!”

“He’s a lazy nigger, sir; ought to be sent back where he belongs.”

“What is his name?  I suppose he can shave me.”

“Calls himself Josiah,” said Peter.  “Mighty poor barber—­cut my face last time he shaved me.  You see, he’s lost two fingers—­makes him awkwarder.”

“What! what!” said Grey, of a sudden reflecting, “two fingers—­”

“Know him?” said Lamb quickly.

“I—­no—­Do you suppose I know every runaway nigger?”

“Oh, of course not.  Might I ask your name, sir?”

“I am a cousin of Mrs. Penhallow.  My name is Grey.”  Peter became cautious and silent.  “Here is a little help, my man, until you get work.  Stick to the good old Party.”  He left two dollars in Lamb’s eager hands.

Surprised at this unusual bounty, Peter said, “Thank you, sir.  God bless you.  It’ll be a great help.”  It meant for the hapless drinker whisky, and he was quick to note the way in which Grey became interested in the man who had lost fingers.

Grey lingered.  “I must risk your barber’s awkwardness,” he said.

“Oh, he can shave pretty well when he’s sober.  He’s our only darkey, sir.  You can’t miss him.  I might show you his shop.”  This Grey declined.

“I suppose, sir,” said Peter, curious, “all darkies look so much alike that it is hard to tell them apart.”

“Oh, not for us—­not for us.”

Then Peter was still more sure that the gentleman with the gold-headed cane was from the South.  As Grey lingered thoughtful, Lamb was maliciously inspired by the size of Grey’s donation and the prospect it offered.  He studied the face of the Southern gentleman and ventured to say, “Excuse me, sir, but if you want to get that man back—­”

“I want him!  Good gracious!  I did not own him.  My inquiries were, I might say, casual, purely casual.”

Lamb, thanks to the Penhallows, had had some education at the school for the mill children, but what was meant by “purely casual” he did not know.  If it implied lack of interest, that was not the case, or why the questions and this gift, large for Westways.  But if the gentleman did not own Josiah’s years of lost labour, some one else did, and who was it?

As Grey turned away, he said, “I may see you again.  I am with my cousin at Grey Pine.  By the bye, how will the county vote?”

Peter assured him that the Democratic Party would carry the county.  “I am glad,” said Grey, “that the people, the real backbone of the country, desire to do justice to the South.”  He felt himself on the way to another exposition of constitutional rights, but realising that it was unwise checked the outflow of eloquence.  He could not, however, refrain from adding, “Your people then are a law-abiding community.”