The black man with the white teeth escorted the strangers to the kitchen of the mansion, where an ebony cook treated them to a typical southern feast. It was well that Black Dinah had no unusual powers of reasoning or perception, for the beggars forgot, more than once, to keep up their assumed roles. Watson found no difficulty in eating, despite his supposed infirmity, and George came within an inch of presenting a Confederate bill to Madame Dinah. But he suddenly reflected that paupers were not supposed to "tip" servants, and he stuffed the money back into his trousers pocket. When they had finished Pompey escorted them to the study of the master of the house. It was a large room, filled with books and family portraits, and in it were assembled the host (Mr. Carter Peyton) and his children. The latter were still engaged in petting Waggie, who began to look a trifle bored. From the manner in which they ruled the house it was plain that their father was a widower. At the request of Mr. Peyton, George sang his whole repertoire of melodies, and the dog once more repeated his tricks. Watson was given a seat in one corner of the study. "It's time we were off," he thought. As Waggie finished his performance Watson rose, and stretched out his hand towards George. "Let's be going," he said. "All right," answered George. He was about to say good-bye, and lead his companion to the door, when a turbaned negress entered the room. "Massa Peyton, Massa Charles Jason done ride oveh heh ta see you." "Is he here now?" asked Mr. Peyton. "Then show him in. I wonder what's the matter? It is not often that Jason gets this far away from home." The girl retired. Charles Jason! Where had the two Northerners heard that name? Then it flashed upon them almost at the same instant. Charles Jason was the name of the farmer who had warned Mr. Buckley about them. If he saw them both, and in company with the dog, they would be under suspicion at once. George drew nearer to Watson and whispered one word: "Danger!" He picked up Waggie and put him in his pocket. "We must be going," reiterated Watson, moving towards the door with unusual celerity for a blind man who had found himself in an unfamiliar apartment. "Don't go yet," urged Mr. Peyton, seeking to detain the supposed vagabonds; "I want Mr. Jason to hear some of these plantation songs. I'll pay you well for your trouble, my boy--and you can take away all the food you want." "I'm sorry," began George, "but----" As the last word was uttered Farmer Charles Jason was ushered into the study. He was a chubby little man of fifty or fifty-five, with red hair, red face and a body which suggested the figure of a plump sparrow--a kindly man, no doubt, in the ordinary course of events, but the last person on earth that the two fugitives wanted to see. "Well, this _is_ a surprise," said the master of the house, very cordially. "It's not often you favor us with a visit as far down the highway as this."