on ’im now en kill ’im in he sleep he ghos pester me ter daith.  Dat de conslomeration ob de hull business.  I doan ax you ter do any ting but he’p me skeer’ im mos’ ter daith.  He watchin’ lak a ole fox ter ke’p you en Zany yere.  Ef you puts out, he riz de kentry en put de houn’s arter you.  We des got ter skeer ‘im off fust.  I’m studyin’ how ter git dat dawg out’n de way.  Des go on quiet few mo’ days en ef you year quar noises up on de hill whar de sogers bur’ed you know hit me.  Look skeered lak de oders but doan be fear’d en keep mum.”

The next few days and nights passed in quiet and all began to breathe more freely.  Even Aun’ Jinkey rallied under the soothing influence of her pipe and the privilege of watching part of each day with Miss Lou.  Slowly the girl began to grow better.  Hoping not even for tolerance of her feelings in regard to Scoville, it was her instinct to conceal them from her relatives.  She knew Mrs. Waldo would not reveal what Aun’ Jinkey had told her, and understood the peculiar tenderness with which that lady often kissed her.  She also guessed that while the stanch Southern friend had deep sympathy for her there was not very strong regret that the affair had ended in a way to preclude further complications.

“Remember, my dear,” said Mrs. Waldo, in her affectionate parting, “that God never utterly impoverishes our lives.  Only we ourselves can do that.  You will get well and become happy in making others happy.”

On the evening of that day, even Mr. Baron’s routine was completely restored.  His larder was meagre compared with the past, but with the exception that Mrs. Whately occupied the place of his niece at the table, and viands were fewer, all was as it had been.  Zany’s fears had subsided, leaving her inwardly chafing at the prospect of monotonous and indefinite years of work under “ole miss,” with little chance of Chunk’s return.  Aun’ Suke’s taste of freedom had not been to her mind, so she was rather complacent than otherwise, and especially over the fact that there was so little to cook.  The garden and Mr. Baron’s good credit would insure enough plain food till the crops matured and the impoverishment caused by the raid was repaired.  It certainly seemed when the sun set that evening that the present aspect of affairs might be maintained indefinitely in the little community.

Only one was not exactly at rest.  Perkins felt as if something was in the air.  There was a brooding, sullen quiet among the negroes which led him to suspect that they were waiting and hoping for something unknown to him.  This was true of Uncle Lusthah and the majority.  The crack of Union rifles was the “soun’ f’um far away” they were listening for.  By secret channels of communication tidings of distant battles were conveyed from plantation to plantation, and the slaves were often better informed that their masters.  As for Perkins, he knew next to nothing of what was taking place, nor did he dream that he was daily addressing harsh words to conspirators against his peace.