“True,” said Skelton. “All races that come in contact with them are held in bondage of some sort. Rule or ruin is the destiny of the Anglo-Saxon everywhere.” Skelton had not asked a single question about anybody in the county. This did not surprise old Tom, who was prepared to tell him a great deal had Skelton manifested the slightest curiosity. When he rose to go Skelton very civilly and gracefully thanked him for his care and guardianship, and made some slight, laughing apology for his own insubordination. “No thanks at all--no thanks at all are due,” answered old Tom jovially. “I rather enjoyed managing such a property, and I flatter myself it did not decrease in my hands. As for managing you--ha! ha!--I admit _that_ was a flat failure. So you brought back that black rascal, Bob Skinny?” “Oh, yes; and I daresay some fine morning the other negroes will take him out and hang him to a tree outside my bedroom window. The fellow is perfectly intolerable--can find nothing good enough for him at Deerchase. He is a natural and incorrigible liar; and, worse still, he has learned to play on what he calls the ‘fluke,’ and between playing the ‘fluke,’ and telling unconscionable lies about his travels, he is a nuisance. The housekeeper told me, this morning, there would be a mutiny soon among the house servants if Bob wasn’t suppressed. But the dog knows his value to me, and presumes upon it, no doubt.” Then came the invitation to dinner at Belfield, which Skelton accepted politely, but he would do himself the honour to call on Mrs. Shapleigh and his little friend Sylvia beforehand. The call was made, but neither of the ladies was at home. A day or two after, old Tom Shapleigh had occasion to go on an errand about their joint water rights, to Deerchase, and Mrs. Shapleigh went with him. Then, too, as by a singular fate, Skelton was out riding about the plantation. But Bulstrode and Lewis happened to be in the hall, and Mrs. Shapleigh, who was dying with curiosity, alighted and went in on their invitation. Old Tom immediately began to talk to Bulstrode, while Mrs. Shapleigh bestowed her attentions on Lewis, much to his embarrassment. Suddenly, in the midst of the murmur of voices, Mrs. Shapleigh screeched out: “La!” “What is it, my dear?” asked old Tom, expecting to hear some such marvel as that the floor was beautifully dry rubbed, or that Skelton had cut down a decaying cedar near the house. “Did you ever see such a likeness as that between this boy and that picture of Richard Skelton’s father over yonder?”