Miss Chris laughed merrily.

“It is the last place he would be likely to drop from,” she returned; “but I’ll call him up and talk with him.  It is a pity for him to be moving off at his age.”

So Uncle Ishmael was summoned up to the porch, and Miss Chris explained the error of his ways, but to no purpose.

“I ain’ got no fault ter fine,” he repeated over and over again, scratching his grizzled head.  “I ain’ got no fault ter fine wid you.  You’ve been used me moughty well, en I’se pow’ful ’bleeged ter you—­en Marse Tom, he’s a gent’mun ef ever I seed one.  I ain’ go no fault ter fine.”

The general lost his temper and started up.

“Then what do you mean by turning fool at your age?” he demanded angrily.  “Haven’t I given you a roof over your head all these years?”

“Dat’s so, suh.”

“And food to eat?”

“Dat’s so.”

“And never asked you to do a lick of work since you got the rheumatism?”

“Dat’s es true es de Gospel.”

“Then what do you mean by going off like mad to that little, broken-down shanty with half the roof gone?”

Uncle Ishmael shuffled his heavy feet and scratched his head again.

“Hit’s de trufe, Marse Tom,” he said at last.  “Hit’s de Gospel trufe.  I ain’ had so much ter eat sence I’se gone off, en I ain’ had much uv er roof ter kiver me, en I ain’ had nuttin’ ter w’ar ter speak on—­but, fo’ de Lawd, Marse Tom, freedom it are er moughty good thing.”

Then the general flew into the house in a rage and Uncle Ishmael left, followed by two small negroes, bearing on their heads the donations made by Miss Chris to his welfare.

On the day that Eugenia encountered Nicholas at school the general was sitting, as usual, in his rocking chair upon the front porch, when he saw the flutter of a blue skirt, and Eugenia emerged from the avenue and came up the walk between the stiff rows of box.  It was two o’clock, and the general was peacefully awaiting the sound of the dinner bell, but at the sight of Eugenia his peacefulness departed, and he called angrily: 

“Eugie, where’s Bernard?”

“Comin’.”

“Coming!” returned the general indignantly.  “Haven’t I told you a dozen times not to walk along that road by yourself?  Why didn’t you wait for the carriage?  Are you never going to mind what I say to you?”

Eugenia came up the steps and threw her books on one of the long green benches.  Then she seated herself in a rocking chair and untied her sunbonnet.

“I wa’n’t by myself,” she said.  “A boy was with me.”

“A boy?  Where is he?”

“He ran away.”

The general’s great head went back, and he shook with laughter.  “Bless my soul!  What did he mean by that?  What boy was it, daughter?”

Eugenia sat upright in the high rocker, fanning her heated face with her sunbonnet.

“The Burr boy,” she answered.