“You want me, Miss Letty?” she said as she came in. “Yes, I do. I don’t want to be left up here all alone. It seems to me, Lutie, you have a precious lot of work downstairs, for you try to slip out every chance you get.” “Miss Rhoda, she hyar,” Lutie began protestingly. “I know she was here, but she is not now. I never thought you would neglect your own Miss Letty, Lutie; especially when she is half sick, and cannot get around without some one’s help. Haven’t I always been good to you?” “Yass, miss, yuh has indeed.” “Then look here; tell me the truth. Now don’t look so scared; I am not going to have you whipped. You know you never had a whipping in your life, except from your own mammy. I want you to tell me who gave you those papers to give to your Marster William.” Lutie began to sniffle. “’Deed, Miss Letty, I didn’t see him. He have a cloak over him, an’ he hide his face, an’ he a gre’t big man.” “With fiery eyes like Napoleon Bonaparte that you’re so afraid of? Now look here, is it any one I know?” “Yass, miss.” Lutie spoke in a tremulous voice. “Was it--now speak the truth--was it--” Lettice looked cautiously around and lowered her voice--“Mr. Clinton?” Lutie writhed, and twisted, and looked every way but at her mistress. “Remember, you’ll be sorry if you don’t tell.” “Miss Letty, what yuh gwine do ef I don’t tell?” at last Lutie inquired in desperation. “What am I going to do? Don’t you know that old Aunt Hagar comes here every day to see me? You know she is a cunjure woman, she’ll do anything I ask her. You’d better look out.” “’Deed an’ ’deed, Miss Letty,” wailed Lutie, dropping on her knees, and rocking back and forth, “I so skeered.” “Of the Poly Bonypart man or the cunjure woman? Which?” “Bofe of ’em. An’ I skeered o’ dat Cockbu’n. Jubal say he mos’ wuss’n Poly Bonypart.” “Jubal does?” “Yass’m. Oh, Miss Letty, don’ mek me tell.” “Humph!” Lettice rested her chin in her hand and thoughtfully regarded the girl sobbing at her feet. “Lutie,” she said after a pause, “what did Jubal tell you about Cockburn and his men?” “He say,” Lutie replied, weeping copiously, “he say ef I tells, ole Cockbu’n git me an’ mek me dance er breakdown on hot coals; an’ he t’ar out mah white teef an’ give ’em to he men to shoot out o’ dey guns lak bullets; and he snatch uvver scrap o’ wool off mah haid, fo’ to mek gun wads outen; an’ he brek uvver bone in mah body, an’ de Britishers rattle ’em when dey play dey chunes ter march by.” Jubal could display a delightfully vivid imagination when it served his purpose.