Early the morning of the next day, Matthias came over to tell us about that “poor gal,” as he called her.

“She wants to see you, Miss Emily, and they say she wants to talk to me too.  Mis’ Goodwin said ’’pears like you’d better come over thar ’bout three o’clock to-day, if you can.’  She’s right peart, an’ by ’nuther mornin’, ’spect she’ll call loud for me.”

“Do you think you know her, Matthias?”

“Can’t say I do, Miss, but seems queer enough, she ‘sists on callin’ of me ‘Peter’—­um—­gimme sich a feelin’ when she spoke dat word,” and Matthias looked as if his heart was turning back to his old home, and its never-to-be-forgotten scenes.

Mother sent a basket of delicacies over by him, and Aunt Hildy said: 

“Tell Miss Goodwin I’m goin’ to bake some of my sweet cookies and send over, and we can make some bread for her; ’twill help along—­don’t forget it Matthias.”

“No, marm, I’ll ’member sure,” and off he started.  As he passed along the path I thought of a word I wanted to say, and ran out of the door in time to see the shadow of a form which I knew must be waiting in the “angle” as we called it.  It was where the east L ended, about ten feet from the main front.  In the summer I had a bed of blue violets here, and named it “Violet Angle.’  I stopped, for I heard a voice, and saw Matthias turn to this spot instead of passing on to the gate as usual.  The first salutation I did not hear, but Matthias’ reply was “yaas sah.”  The voice was Mr. Benton’s, and I stood riveted to the spot.

“Who is that girl, Matt?” he said.

“Dunno, sah.”

“Don’t know?  Yes, you do know; you can’t play your odds on me.  I’m not ready to swallow all I hear.  I want you to tell me who that girl is, and how she came here.”

“I dunno, sah, sartin.”

“Matt, I don’t believe a word you say; first tell me the truth.”

“Massar Benton, you’re a queer man.  Dis niggah shan’t tell you no lies, but de Lord’s truf, I dunno noffin ’bout.”

“You don’t know me either, do you?” and he laughed ironically.

“Never thought I did,” said Matthias; “’pears like long ways back I see some face like yours, but I dunno.  Good many faces looks alike roun’ yere.”

“Yes, yes,” says Benton, “you’ve said enough, you black rascal; and you mark my words, if you’ve raised the devil, as I think you have, I’ll cowhide you.  I’ll give you something to remember me by, you old fool; and you a’nt a fool either; you’re as cunning as Satan is wicked.”

“De Lord forgive you,” said Matthias, “you’re done gone clar from your senses.  I dunno who dat gal is, an I dunno who you is, an’ what more kin I say?”

“I know who you are, and I know you were the slave of Sumner down in South Carolina.”

“Yaas,” said Matthias, “dat’s so; but how does you know ’bout me?  Did you come down thar?  ’Haps dat’s de reason you’re face kinder makes me look back, an it mos’ allus does; ’pears like you mout explain.”