“I will ride for them,” said Mr. Mason.  It was a dark, lowering night, and spitting rain.

“And leave me defenceless!” she cried.  “You do not stir, sir.”

“It is a pity,” said Mr. Mason—­he was goaded to it, I suppose—­“’tis a pity Mr. Riddle did not come to-night.”

She shot at him a withering look, for even in her fear she would brook no liberties.  Nick spoke up:—­

“I will go,” said he; “I can get through the woods to Fanning Hall—­”

“And I will go with him,” I said.

“Let the brats go,” she said, and cut short Mr. Mason’s expostulations.  She drew Nick to her and kissed him.  He wriggled away, and without more ado we climbed out of the dining-room windows into the night.  Running across the lawn, we left the lights of the great house twinkling behind us in the rain.  We had to pass the long line of cabins at the quarters.  Three overseers with lanterns stood guard there; the cabins were dark, the wretches within silent and cowed.  Thence we felt with our feet for the path across the fields, stumbled over a sty, and took our way through the black woods.  I was at home here, and Nick was not to be frightened.  At intervals the mournful bay of a bloodhound came to us from a distance.

“Suppose we should meet the Congo chief,” said Nick, suddenly.

The idea had occurred to me.

“She needn’t have been so frightened,” said he, in scornful remembrance of his mother’s actions.

We pressed on.  Nick knew the path as only a boy can.  Half an hour passed.  It grew brighter.  The rain ceased, and a new moon shot out between the leaves.  I seized his arm.

“What’s that?” I whispered.

“A deer.”

But I, cradled in woodcraft, had heard plainly a man creeping through the underbrush beside us.  Fear of the Congo chief and pity for the wretch tore at my heart.  Suddenly there loomed in front of us, on the path, a great, naked man.  We stood with useless limbs, staring at him.

Then, from the trees over our heads, came a chittering and a chattering such as I had never heard.  The big man before us dropped to the earth, his head bowed, muttering.  As for me, my fright increased.  The chattering stopped, and Nick stepped forward and laid his hand on the negro’s bare shoulder.

“We needn’t be afraid of him now, Davy,” he said.  “I learned that trick from a Portuguese overseer we had last year.”

“You did it!” I exclaimed, my astonishment overcoming my fear.

“It’s the way the monkeys chatter in the Canaries,” he said.  “Manuel had a tame one, and I heard it talk.  Once before I tried it on the chief, and he fell down.  He thinks I’m a god.”

It must have been a weird scene to see the great negro following two boys in the moonlight.  Indeed, he came after us like a dog.  At length we were in sight of the lights of Fanning Hall.  The militia was there.  We were challenged by the guard, and caused sufficient amazement when we appeared in the hall before the master, who was a bachelor of fifty.