leaving a note on her door to tell our landlady that business would keep me away an indefinite time, i got out at the front gate unobserved, and with a sweet dignity that charmed me with myself walked away under a bewitching parasol, well veiled.

i knew where to find my two sportsmen. a few hundred paces put the town and an open field at my back; a few more down a bushy lane brought me where a dense wood overhung both sides of the narrow way, and the damp air was full of the smell of penny-royal and of creek sands. from here i proposed to saunter down through the woods to the creek, locate my fishermen, and draw them my way by cries of distress.

on their reaching my side my story, told through my veil and between meanings and clingings, was to be that while on a journey in my own coach, a part of its running-gear having broken, i had sent it on to be mended; that through love of trees and wild flowers i had ventured to stay alone meantime among them, and that a snake had bitten me on the ankle. i should describe a harmless one but insist i was poisoned, and yet refuse to show the wound or be borne back to the road, or to let either man stay with me alone while the other went for a doctor, or to drink their whiskey for a cure. on getting back to the road--with the two fellows for crutches--i should send both to town for my coach, keeping with me their tackle and fish. then i should get myself and my spoils back to our dwelling as best i could and--await the issue. if this poor performance had so come off--but see what occurred instead!

i had shut my parasol and moved into hiding behind some wild vines to mop my face, when near by on the farther side of the way came slyly into view a negro and negress. they were in haste to cross the road yet quite as wishful to cross unseen. one, in home-spun gown and sunbonnet, was ungainly, shoeless, bird-heeled, fan-toed, ragged, and would have been painfully ugly but for a grotesqueness almost winsome.

"she's a field-hand," was my thought.

the other, in very clean shirt, trousers, and shoes, looking ten years younger and hardly full-grown, was shapely and handsome. "that boy," thought i, "is a house-servant. the two don't belong in the same harness. and yet i'd bet a new hat they're runaways."

now they gathered courage to come over. with a childish parade of unconcern and with all their glances up and down the road, they came, and were within seven steps of me before they knew i was near. i shall never forget the ludicrous horror that flashed white and black from the eyes in that sun-bonnet, nor the snort with which its owner, like a frightened heifer, crashed off a dozen yards into the brush and as suddenly stopped.

"good morning, boy," i said to the other, who had gulped with consternation, yet stood still.

"good mawnin', mist'ess."

the feminine title came luckily. i had forgotten my disguise, so disarmed was i by the refined dignity of the dark speaker's mellow voice and graceful modesty. after all, my prejudices were southern. i had rarely seen negroes, at worship, work, or play, without an inward groan for some way--righteous way--by which our land might be clean rid of them. but here, in my silly disguise, confronting this unmixed young african so manifestly superior to millions of our human swarm white or black, my unsympathetic generalizations were clear put to shame. the customary challenge, "who' d'you belong to?" failed on my lips, and while those soft eyes passed over me from bonnet to mitts i gave my head as winsome a tilt as i could and inquired: "what is your name?"

"me?"

"yes, you; what is it?"

"i'm name', eh, euonymus; yass'm."

"oh, boy, where'd your mother get that name?"

"why, mist'ess, ain't dat a bible name?"

"oh, yes," i said, remembering onesimus. with my parasol i indicated the other figure, sunbonneted, motionless, gazing on us through the brush.

"has she a bible name too?"

"yass'm; robelia."

robelia brought chin and shoulder together and sniggered. "euonymus," i asked, "have you seen two young gentlemen, fishing, anywhere near here?"

"yass'm, dey out 'pon a san'bar 'bout two hund'ed yards up de creek." the black finger that pointed was as clean as mine.

"you and this woman," thought i again, "are dodging those men." with a smile as of curiosity i looked my slim informant over once more. i had never seen slavery so flattered yet so condemned.

all at once i said in my heart: "you, my lad, i'll help to escape!" but when i looked again at the absurd robelia i saw i must help both alike.

"euonymus, did you ever drive a lady's coach?"

"me? no'm, i never drove no lady's coach."

"well, boy, i'm travelling--in my own outfit."

"yass'm."

"but i hire a new driver and span at each town and send the others back."

"yass'm," said euonymus. robelia came nearer.

"my coach is now at a livery-stable in town, and i want a driver and a lady's maid."

"yass'm."

"i'd prefer free colored people. they could come with me as far as they pleased, and i shouldn't be responsible for their return."

"yass'm," said euonymus, edging away from robelia's nudge.

"now, euonymus, i judge by your being out here in the woods this time of day, idle, that you're both free, you and your sister, h'm?"

"ro'--robelia an' me? eh, ye'--yass'm, as you may say, in a manneh, yass'm."

"she is your sister, is she not?"

"yass'm," clapped in robelia, with a happy grin, and euonymus quietly added:

"us full sisteh an' brotheh--in a manneh."

"umh'm. could you drive my coach, euonymus?"

"what, me, mist'ess? why, eh, o' co'se i kin drive some, but--" the soft, honest eyes, seeking robelia's, betrayed a mental conflict. i guessed there were more than two runaways, and that euonymus was debating whether for robelia's sake to go with me and leave the others behind, or not.

"you kin drive de coach," blurted the one-ideaed robelia. "you knows you kin."

"no, mi'ss, takin' all roads as dey come i ain't no ways fitt'n'; no'm."

"well, daddy's fitt'n'!" said the sun-bonnet.

euonymus flinched, yet smilingly said:

"yass, da's so, but i ain't daddy, no mo'n you is."

"well, us kin go fetch him--in th'ee shakes."

euonymus flinched again, yet showed generalship. "yass'm, us kin go ax daddy."

i smiled. "let robelia go and you stay here."

robelia waited on tiptoe. "go fetch him," murmured euonymus, "an' make has'e."

"wait! you're a good boy, euonymus, ain't you?"

"i cayn't say dat, mi'ss; but i'm glad ef you thinks so."

"y' is good!" said robelia. "you knows you is!"

"never mind," i said; "do you belong to--zion?"

the dark face grew radiant. "yass'm, i does!"

"euonymus, how many more of you-all are there besides daddy and mammy?"

the surprise was cruel. the runaway's eyes let out a gleam of alarm and then, as i lighted with kindness, filled with rapt wonder at my miraculous knowledge: "be'--be'--beside'--beside' d-daddy an' m-mammy? d'ain't no mo', m-mist'ess; no'm!"

"yass'm," put in robelia, "da's all; us fo'."

"just you four. euonymus, a bit ago i noticed on your sister's ankles some white mud."

"yass'm." another gleam of alarm and then a fine, awesome courage. robelia stared in panic.

"the nearest white mud--marl--in the state, robelia, is forty miles south of here."

"is d'--dat so, mist'ess?"

"yes, and so you also are travellers, euonymus."

"trav'--y'--yass'm, i--i reckon you mought call us trav'luz, in a manneh, yass'm."

"well, my next town is thirty miles north of----"

"nawth!" euonymus broke in, thinking furiously.

"now, if instead of hiring just your sister and her daddy i should----"

"yass'm!"

"suppose i should take all four of you along, as though you were my slaves----"

"de time bein'," euonymus alertly slipped in.

"certainly, that's all. how would that do?"

"oh, mist'ess! kin you work dat miracle?"

"i can do it if it suits you."

"lawd, it suit' us! dey couldn't be noth'n' mo' rep'ehensible!"

robelia vanished. euonymus gazed into my eyes.

[had my disguise failed?] "what is it, boy?"

"may i ax you a question, mi'ss?"

"you may ask if you won't tell."

"oh, i won't tell! is you a sho' enough 'oman?--lawd, i knowd you wa'n't! no mo'n you is a man! i seen it f'om de beginnin'!"

"why, boy, what do you imagine i am?"

"oh, i don't 'magine, i knows! 't'uz me prayed gawd to sen' you. y' ain't man, y' ain't 'oman! an' yit yo' bofe! yo' de same what visit ab'am, an' lot, an' dan'l, and de motheh de lawd!"

"stop! stop! never mind who i am; i've got to put you fifty miles from here before bedtime."

"yes, my lawd. oh, yes, my lawd!"

"euonymus! you mustn't call me that!"

"ain't dat what ab'am called you?"

"i forget! but--call me mistress!--only!"

"yass, suh--yass, mi'ss!"

"good. now, lad, i can take you alone, horseback, which'll be far swifter, safer, surer----"

a new alarm, a new exaltation--"oh, no, my--mist'ess; no, no! you knows you on'y a-temptin' o' dy servant!"

"you wouldn't leave daddy and mammy?"

"oh, daddy kin stick to mammy, an' her to he! but robelia got neither faith nor gumption, an' let me never see de salvation o' de lawd ef i cayn't stick by dat--by--by my po' robelia!"

"but suppose, my boy, we should be mistaken for runaways and tracked and run down."

"yass'm, o' co'se. yass'm."

"can you fight--for your sister?"

"yass, my la'--yass'm, i kin an' i will. i's qualified my soul to' dat, suh; yass'm."

"dogs?"

"yass'm, dawgs. notinstandin' de dawgs come pass me roun' about, in de name o' de lawd will i lif up my han' an' will perwail."

"have you only your hands?"

"da's all david had, ag'in lion an' bah."

"true. euonymus, i need a man's clothes."

"yass'm, on a pinch dey mowt come handy."