“I hasn’t des tink out dis question ob bein’ free yit.  I’se too ole to wuk much an’ old mars’r’s took keer on me long time.”

“Well, I’se tink it out,” put in Chunk, decidedly; “en I’se able to wuk fer you en me too.”

“You mighty peart, Chunk, co’tin’ a gal lie a bean-pole a’ready.  I reck’n she spen’ all you eber mek.  You bettah boos’ de Linkum man into dat ar lof sud’n, kase ef Marse Perkins cotch ’im yere we all ain’ feelin’ berry good bimeby.”

“Dat ar truer’n preachin’,” admitted Chunk, with alacrity.  “Des you tek hol’ ob dem ladder rouns, mars’r, an’ put yo’ foots on my sho’lers.  Dat’s hit.  Nobody tink ob fin’in’ you yere.  I’se study how ter git yo’ hoss out of sight ’gin mawnin’.”

“You stand by me, Chunk,” said the soldier, “and you won’t be sorry.  There’s a lot of us coming this way soon, and I can be a good friend of yours and all your people if you help me out of this scrape.”

“I’se gwine ter stan’ by you, boss.  I’se mek up my min’ ter be free dis time, sho!  Hi! w’at dat?”

He was wonderfully agile, for his arms were nearly as long as his legs.  In an instant he descended, drawing a trap-door after him.  Then he sauntered to the door, which he opened wide.  A troop of horsemen were coming single file by a path which led near the cabin, and the foremost asked in a voice which the negro recognized as that of Lieutenant Whately, “Is that you, Chunk?”

“Dat’s me, mars’r.  My ’specs.”

“Be off, you skeleton.  Make time for the house and help get supper for me and the men.  If you don’t run like a red deer, I’ll ride you down.”

“Good Lawd! w’at gwine ter hap’n nex’?” groaned Chunk, as he disappeared toward the mansion.  He burst like a bombshell into the kitchen, a small building in the rear of the house.

“Did you eber see de likes?” exclaimed Zany.  “What yo’ manners—­”

“Hi, dar! talk ‘bout manners!  Marse Whately comin’ wid a army, en want supper fer um all in des one minute en er haf by de clock!”

Great, fat Aun’ Suke threw up her hands in despair, and in the brief silence the tramp of horses and the jingling of sabres were plainly heard.  They all knew Mad Whately, and it needed not that Mrs. Baron, desperately flurried, should bustle in a few moments later with orders that all hands should fly around.  “What you doing here?” she asked Chunk, sharply.

“I’se here ter hep, mistis.  Dem’s my orders from Marse Whately.  He come ridin’ by granny’s.”

“Then go and kill chickens.”

A few moments later the dolorous outcry of fowls was added to the uproar made by the barking dogs.

With a chill of fear Miss Lou, in her chamber, recognized her cousin’s voice, and knew that he, with his band, had come to claim hospitality at his uncle’s hands.  What complications did his presence portend?  Truly, the long months of monotony on the old plantation were broken now.  What the end would be she dared not think, but for the moment her spirit exulted in the excitement which would at least banish stagnation.