“How could he help it?” said Puss, slyly.

Virginia took no notice of the remark.

“He heard me ask Pa to buy her.  He heard Clarence say that he would bid her in for me.  I know he did.  And yet he goes in and outbids Clarence, and buys her himself.  Do you think any gentleman would do that, Puss Russell?”

“He bought her himself!” cried the astonished Miss Russell.  “Why I thought that all Bostonians were Abolitionists.”

“Then he set her free,” said Miss Carvel, contemptuously Judge Whipple went on her bond to-day.”

“Oh, I’m just crazy to see him now,” said Miss Russell.

“Ask him to your party, Virginia,” she added mischievously.

“Do you think I would have him in my house?” cried Virginia.

Miss Russell was likewise courageous—­“I don’t see why not.  You have Judge Whipple every Sunday dinner, and he’s an Abolitionist.”

Virginia drew herself up.

“Judge Whipple has never insulted me,” she said, with dignity.

Puss gave way to laughter.  Whereupon, despite her protests and prayers for forgiveness, Virginia took to her mare again and galloped off.  They saw her turn northward on the Bellefontaine Road.

Presently the woodland hid from her sight the noble river shining far below, and Virginia pulled Vixen between the gateposts which marked the entrance to her aunt’s place, Bellegarde.  Half a mile through the cool forest, the black dirt of the driveway flying from Vixen’s hoofs, and there was the Colfax house on the edge of the, gentle slope; and beyond it the orchard, and the blue grapes withering on the vines,—­and beyond that fields and fields of yellow stubble.  The silver smoke of a steamboat hung in wisps above the water.  A young negro was busily washing the broad veranda, but he stopped and straightened at sight of the young horsewoman.

“Sambo, where’s your mistress?”

“Clar t’ goodness, Miss Jinny, she was heah leetle while ago.”

“Yo’ git atter Miss Lilly, yo’ good-fo’-nuthin’ niggah,” said Ned, warmly.  “Ain’t yo’ be’n raised better’n to stan’ theh wif yo’mouf open?”

Sambo was taking the hint, when Miss Virginia called him back.

“Where’s Mr. Clarence?

“Young Masr?  I’ll fotch him, Miss Jinny.  He jes come home f’um seein’ that thar trottin’ hose he’s gwine to race nex’ week.”

Ned, who had tied Calhoun and was holding his mistress’s bridle, sniffed.  He had been Colonel Carvel’s jockey in his younger days.

“Shucks!” he said contemptuously.  “I hoped to die befo’ the day a gemman’d own er trottah, Jinny.  On’y runnin’ hosses is fit fo’ gemmen.”

“Ned,” said Virginia, “I shall be eighteen in two weeks and a young lady.  On that day you must call me Miss Jinny.”

Ned’s face showed both astonishment and inquiry.

“Jinny, ain’t I nussed you always?  Ain’t I come upstairs to quiet you when yo’ mammy ain’t had no power ovah yo’?  Ain’t I cooked fo’ yo’, and ain’t I followed you everywheres since I quit ridin’ yo’ pa’s bosses to vict’ry?  Ain’t I one of de fambly?  An’ yit yo’ ax me to call yo’ Miss Jinny?”