Frank noticed a few Latin books in the collection.  “Do you read Latin, Mr. Morton?” he inquired.

“Yes, with tolerable ease.  If I can be of any assistance to you in carrying on your Latin studies, it will afford me pleasure to do so.”

“I am very much obliged to you, Mr. Morton.  I tried to go on with it by myself, but every now and then I came to a difficult sentence which I could not make out.”

“I think we can overcome the difficulties between us.  At any rate, we will try.  Have no hesitation in applying to me.”

Before closing this chapter, I think it necessary to narrate a little incident which served to heighten the interest with which Frank regarded his new friend, though it involved the latter in a shadow of mystery.

Mrs. Frost did not keep what in New England is denominated “help.”  Being in good health, she performed the greater part of her household tasks unassisted.  When washing and house-cleaning days came, however, she obtained outside assistance.  For this purpose she engaged Chloe to come twice a week, on Monday and Saturday, not only because in this way she could help the woman to earn a living, but also because she found her a valuable and efficient assistant.

Henry Morton became a member of the little household at the farm on Thursday, and two days later Chloe came as usual to “clean house.”

The young man was standing in the front yard as Chloe, with a white turban on her head, for she had not yet laid aside her Southern mode of dress, came from the street by a little path which led to the back door.  Her attention was naturally drawn to the young man.  No sooner did she obtain a full view of him, than she stopped short and exclaimed with every appearance of surprise, “Why, Mass’ Richard, who’d’a’ thought to see you here.  You look just like you used to do, dat’s a fac’.  It does my old eyes good to see you.”

Henry Morton turned suddenly.

“What, Chloe!” he exclaimed in equal surprise.  “What brings you up here?  I thought you were miles away, in Virginia.”

“So I was, Mass’ Richard.  But Lor’ bless you, when de Linkum sogers come, I couldn’t stay no longer.  I took and runned away.”

“And here you are, then.”

“Yes, Mass’ Richard, here I is, for sure.”

“How do you like the North, Chloe?”

“Don’t like it as well as de Souf.  It’s too cold,” and Chloe shivered.

“But you would rather be here than there?”

“Yes, Mass’ Richard.  Here I own myself.  Don’t have no oberseer to crack his whip at me now.  I’se a free woman now, and so’s my little Pomp.”

The young man smiled at the innocent mistake.

“Pomp is your little boy, I suppose, Chloe.”

“Yes, Mass’ Richard.”

“Is he a good boy?”

“He’s as sassy as de debble,” said Chloe emphatically.  “I don’t know what’s goin’ to ’come of dat boy.  He’s most worried my life out.”