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?”

“Then you’ve had privileges enough,” Virginia answered.  “One week from to-morrow you are to say ‘Miss Jinny.’”

“I’se tell you what, Jinny,” he answered mischievously, with an emphasis on the word, “I’se call you Miss Jinny ef you’ll call me Mistah Johnson.  Mistah Johnson.  You aint gwinter forget?  Mistah Johnson.”

“I’ll remember,” she said.  “Ned,” she demanded suddenly, “would you like to be free?”

The negro started.

“Why you ax me dat, Jinny?”

“Mr. Benbow’s Hester is free,” she said.

“Who done freed her?”

Miss Virginia flushed.  “A detestable young Yankee, who has come out here to meddle with what doesn’t concern him.  I wanted Hester, Ned.  And you should have married her, if you behaved yourself.”

Ned laughed uneasily.

“I reckon I’se too ol’ fo’ Heste’.”  And added with privileged impudence, “There ain’t no cause why I can’t marry her now.”

Virginia suddenly leaped to the ground without his assistance.