“She’s a field-hand,” was my thought.

The other, in very clean shirt, trousers, and shoes, looking ten years younger and hardly full-grown, was shapely and handsome.  “That boy,” thought I, “is a house-servant.  The two don’t belong in the same harness.  And yet I’d bet a new hat they’re runaways.”

Now they gathered courage to come over.  With a childish parade of unconcern and with all their glances up and down the road, they came, and were within seven steps of me before they knew I was near.  I shall never forget the ludicrous horror that flashed white and black from the eyes in that sun-bonnet, nor the snort with which its owner, like a frightened heifer, crashed off a dozen yards into the brush and as suddenly stopped.

“Good morning, boy,” I said to the other, who had gulped with consternation, yet stood still.

“Good mawnin’, mist’ess.”

The feminine title came luckily.  I had forgotten my disguise, so disarmed was I by the refined dignity of the dark speaker’s mellow voice and graceful modesty.  After all, my prejudices were Southern.  I had rarely seen negroes, at worship, work, or play, without an inward groan for some way—­righteous way—­by which our land might be clean rid of them.  But here, in my silly disguise, confronting this unmixed young African so manifestly superior to millions of our human swarm white or black, my unsympathetic generalizations were clear put to shame.  The customary challenge, “Who’ d’you belong to?” failed on my lips, and while those soft eyes passed over me from bonnet to mitts I gave my head as winsome a tilt as I could and inquired:  “What is your name?”

“Me?”

“Yes, you; what is it?”

“I’m name’, eh, Euonymus; yass’m.”

“Oh, boy, where’d your mother get that name?”

“Why, mist’ess, ain’t dat a Bible name?”

“Oh, yes,” I said, remembering Onesimus.  With my parasol I indicated the other figure, sunbonneted, motionless, gazing on us through the brush.

“Has she a Bible name too?”

“Yass’m; Robelia.”

Robelia brought chin and shoulder together and sniggered.  “Euonymus,” I asked, “have you seen two young gentlemen, fishing, anywhere near here?”

“Yass’m, dey out ’pon a san’bar ’bout two hund’ed yards up de creek.”  The black finger that pointed was as clean as mine.

“You and this woman,” thought I again, “are dodging those men.”  With a smile as of curiosity I looked my slim informant over once more.  I had never seen slavery so flattered yet so condemned.

All at once I said in my heart:  “You, my lad, I’ll help to escape!” But when I looked again at the absurd Robelia I saw I must help both alike.

“Euonymus, did you ever drive a lady’s coach?”

“Me?  No’m, I never drove no lady’s coach.”

“Well, boy, I’m travelling—­in my own outfit.”

“Yass’m.”

“But I hire a new driver and span at each town and send the others back.”