“There now—­there—­that will do.  Nothing of that kind will trouble you, James; you may take my word for it.  If you are quite determined to go I shall not try to keep you.  But what have you in that bundle?”

“Hi!  Hi!  Dat’s de way to talk!” interrupted Uncle Billy, excitedly foreseeing means to prevent Jeems Henry’s departure.  “What you got in yo’ bundle?”

Jeems Henry lifted his anguished eyes and gazed truthfully at his mistress.

“I ain’t got nothin’—­what don’t b’long to me, Miss Hallie.”

“I don’t mean that,” Mrs. Cary responded kindly.  “But you have a long tramp before you.  Have you anything to eat?”

“Nor’m, I ain’t,” and Jeems Henry seemed disturbed.

“Then you’d better come around to the kitchen.  We’ll see what we can find.”

At this unheard-of generosity, Uncle Billy’s eyes opened widely and he exploded in remonstrance.

“Now, hol’ on dar, Miss Hallie!  Hol’ on.  You ain’ got none too much fo’ yo’se’f, d’out stuffin’ dis yere six-bit rat hole wid waffles an’ milasses.”

“William!” commanded his mistress.

“Yas’m,” was the meek response, and Uncle Billy subsided into silence.

With a sigh, Mrs. Cary turned away toward the house.  “Well, James, are you coming?”

But Jeems Henry, completely abashed before this miracle of kindness which he did not deserve, decided that it was time for him to be a man.

“Thank you, Miss Hallie,” he gulped, “but f’um now on I reckon I gwine take keer of myse’f.”

Mrs. Cary, pausing on the bottom step, raised her eyes heavenward in a short prayer that children such as these might somehow be protected from themselves.

“Well, James,” she said, when she saw there was nothing more to be done.  “I hope you’ll be happy and contented.  If you are not—­come back to us.  Perhaps, when the war is over, you’ll find things a little more—­comfortable.  Good-by, James,” and she held out her hand.

But this last touch of gentleness was too much for the young mulatto.  Although he made an obedient step forward, his feelings overcame him and with an audible snuffle and his hand over his eyes he retreated—­then turned his back and plunged through the hedge.

Mrs. Cary sank down on the step and looked as if she, too, would like to cry.

Manfully, Uncle Billy came to her rescue.  “Now don’t you care, Miss Hallie.  He wan’ no ‘count for plowin’ no how.”

“Oh, it isn’t that, Uncle Billy,” Mrs. Cary replied with a low cry of regret.  “It isn’t the actual loss of help, tho’ we need it, goodness knows.  But it makes me sad to see them leaving, one by one.  They are such children and so helpless—­without a master hand.”

“Yas’m,” agreed Uncle Billy readily.  “An’ de marster’s han’ ought to have a hick’ry stick in it fer dat nigger.  Yas, bless Gawd.  But you got me, Miss Hallie,” he announced proudly. “I ain’t runned away to de blue-bellies yet.”