“What you larfin’ at, Aunt Dicey? ’pears you’s mighty tickled ’bout suffin’,” remarked the cook, looking up in wonder and curiosity from the eggs she was beating.

“What’s de fun, Aunt Dicey?” asked Uncle Joe, who sat in the doorway busily engaged in cleaning a gun.

“Why, don’t you see, darkies? de soap ain’t gwine to come till ’bout de time de Kluxes roun’ heyah; den dis chile gib ’em a berry warm deception, yah! yah! yah!”

“A powerful hot one,” observed the cook, joining in the laugh; “but dey won’t min’ it; dey’s cobered up, you know.”

“‘Taint no diffence,” remarked Uncle Joe, “de gowns an’ masks, dey’s nuffin but cotton cloth, an’ de hot soap’ll permeate right tru, an’ scald de rascal’s skins!”

“Dat’s so; an’ take de skin off too.”

Uncle Joe stopped work and mused a moment, scratching his head and gazing into vacancy.

“’Clar to goodness dat’s a splendid idea, Aunt Dicey!” he burst out at length.  “An’ let’s hab a kettle ob boilin’ lye to tote up stairs in da house, ‘bout de time we see de Kluxes comin’ up de road; den Aunt Chloe an’ Prilla can expense it out ob de windows; a dippah full at a time.  Kin you git um ready fo’ den?”

“Dat I kin,” she replied with energy, “dis consecrated lye don’t take no time to fix.  I’ll hab it ready, sho’ as you lib.”

Meanwhile the party from the Oaks had arrived according to appointment, and with Mr. Travilla and his guest, were busy with their arrangements for the coming conflict, when quite unexpectedly old Mr. Dinsmore and Calhoun Conly appeared upon the scene.

“We have broken in upon a conference, I think,” remarked the old gentleman, glancing from one to another and noticing that the entrance of himself and grandson seemed to thrown a slight constraint over them.

“Rest assured, sir, that you are most welcome,” replied Mr. Travilla.  “We were conferring together on a matter of importance, but one which I am satisfied need not be concealed from you or Cal.  I have had certain information that the Ku Klux—­”

“Stay!” cried Calhoun, springing to his feet, a burning flush rising to his very hair, “don’t, I beg of you, cousin, say another word in my presence.  I—­I know I’m liable to be misunderstood—­a wrong construction put upon my conduct,” he continued glancing in an agony of shame and entreaty from one astonished face to another, “but I beg you will judge me leniently and never, never, doubt my loyalty to you all,” and bowing courteously to the company he hastily left the room, and hurrying out of the house, mounted his horse and galloped swiftly down the avenue.

For a moment those left behind looked at each other in dumb surprise; then old Mr. Dinsmore broke the silence by a muttered exclamation, “Has the boy gone daft?”

“I think I understand it, sir,” said his son, “poor Cal has been deceived and cajoled into joining that organization, under a misapprehension of its deeds and aims, but having learned how base, cruel, and insurrectionary they are, has ceased to act with them—­or rather never has acted with them—­yet is bound by oath to keep their secrets and do nothing against them.”