“No, ma’am, Miss Letty, I ain’t ’zactly skeert, but I feels kin o’ creepy when I sees yuh a-settin’ on yo gre’t gran’daddy grabe.” “I don’t see why.” “Kase he de one dat ha’nt de place,” replied Lutie, in a whisper. “Nonsense! I don’t believe it at all.” “Yass, miss, he do so; he go on tur’ble, Jubal say, uvver since Mars Torm go ’way.” “Hush, Lutie,” said Lettice, peremptorily. “I don’t like such talk.” Lutie looked properly abashed and sought to change the subject. “Is yuh skeert o’ Poly Bonypart, Miss Letty?” “No; why should I be?” “’Cause he a--a--. He mos’ wuss an’ anybody. He got gre’t big eyes, an’ he tall as a tree, an’ he cuts off folkses haids if dey dar’s look at him, an’ he go rampagin’ roun’ an’ kills folks fo’ fun. Yuh reckon he uvver come dis way, Miss Letty? When Jubal tell me ’bout him, I so skeert I pulls up de kivers when I goes to baid, an’ I keeps mah haid un’er dem, an’ I jes’ shivers an’ shakes.” “And let your feet stick out where he can see them; that’s what you always do,” Lettice observed. “Law, Miss Letty!” Lutie sat up in alarm. “Yuh talks lak you ’spected him.” Lettice’s peal of laughter discovered her whereabouts to a rather annoyed young man who had been sauntering up and down the porch while a couple of small negroes scudded upstairs and down in a vain search for the young lady, and before Lettice was aware of his presence, Robert Clinton looked over the hedge, exclaiming triumphantly: “Ah, here you are; and this is the graveyard that you would never show me. I might have known that you would be in hiding here.” “I’m not in hiding,” Lettice replied, rising to her feet. “It is one of my favorite retreats, as I told you; and if you had paid the heed to my words that you pretend, you would have remembered.” The young man looked rather disconcerted. “But, you know, you have always refused to come here with me, and how was I to know the way?” “You could have asked.” “May I come in now?” he inquired humbly. “I don’t think my father would object,” Lettice returned demurely, and the young man vaulted the hedge instantly. “You should have gone around; at the other side there is an opening,” Lettice told him. “I didn’t see it. This is an interesting spot, isn’t it?” he said, throwing himself down by her side. “What fair, sweet flowers grow here; but the fairest of all--” “Lutie,” cried Lettice, “there’s that old turkey-hen now. I saw her run out from behind Theophilus Hopkins’s grave. Go head her off. Excuse me, Mr. Clinton, you were saying something about flowers.” “I was saying,” he returned, a little put out, “that you have planted some very pretty flowers in here.” “Oh, yes; we like to keep the place as pretty as we can. Come, we will go over there on the other side of the hedge by that big tree. I have been in here long enough. Was it warm riding over?” “Yes, more than warm, hot; but there’s a refreshing breeze from the creek just here; I’d like to take you out there.”