"Yes, I do object," put in the shrill-voiced, cadaverous Mrs. Diggs, "They don't take a child of mine to their strict military schools. Why, what if he was to get sick, away off there, and me here? I wouldn't stop day or night till I got there." Dinner over, the party repaired to the parlor, and 'Squire Diggs asked his son to speak "one of his pieces" for the entertainment of the company. "What piece shall I say?" asked Patrick Henry, as anxious to display his oratorical talents as his father was to have him. "The piece that begins, 'I come not here to talk,'" said Mrs. Diggs, her sallow features lit up with a smile that showed the tips of her false teeth. Several of the negroes, learning that a show of some kind was about to begin in the parlor, crowded about the room, peeping in at the doors and windows. Patrick Henry took his position in the centre of the room, struck a pompous attitude, standing high as his short legs would permit, and, brushing the hair from his forehead, bowed to his audience and, in a high, loud monotone, began: "I come not to talk! You know too well The story of our thraldom. We--we--" He paused and bowed his head. "We are slaves," prompted the mother, who was listening with eager interest. Mrs. Diggs had heard her son "say his piece" so often that she had learned it herself, and now served as prompter. Patrick Henry continued: "We are slaves. The bright moon rises----" "No, sun," interrupted his mother. "The bright sun rises in the East and lights A race of slaves. He sets--and the--last thing"-- The young orator was again off the track. "And his last beam falls on a slave," again the fond mother prompted. By being frequently prompted, Patrick Henry managed to "speak his piece through." While the mother, alert and watchful, listened and prompted, the father, short, and sleek, and fat, leaned back in his chair, one short leg just able to reach across the other, listening with satisfied pride to his son's display. "The poor child has forgotten some of it," said the mother, at the conclusion. "Yes," added the father; "he don't speak much now, and so has forgotten a great deal that he knew." Mr. Tompkins and his wife, inwardly regretting that he had not forgotten all, willingly excused Patrick Henry from any further efforts. And though they had welcomed and entertained their guests with the cordial Southern hospitality, they felt somewhat relieved when the Diggs carriage, with its ancient, dark-skinned coachman, rolled away over the hills towards Snagtown. CHAPTER IV. MORE OF THE MYSTERY.