"What's dat, young massa?" he asked. "That's a harmonica." "You do play beau'ful, young massa." "Thank you, Pompey, I am glad you like it." "Play some more," entreated Pompey. Dean complied with the negro's request, partly because he was obliging, partly because it helped to fill up the time. He could scarcely forbear laughing to see Pompey rocking to and fro with his mouth open, drinking in the melodious strains. Nature had given Pompey a rapt appreciation of music, and he began to croon a vocal accompaniment to the instrument. "Who learn you to play, young massa?" he asked. "I taught myself. It isn't hard." "Dat's because your white. A poor nigger like me couldn't learn," said Pompey half inquiringly. "Oh yes, you could. I see you have an ear for music. Would you like to try?" "If you would let me." Dean handed the negro the harmonica, and gave him the necessary directions. In the course of half an hour he was able to play through "Old Folks at Home," with substantial accuracy. "I wish I had a harmonicum," said Pompey wistfully. "It would make old Pompey happy." An idea came into Dean's head—a wild, perhaps an impracticable idea, but he resolved to carry it out, if possible. "Pompey," he said, "I'll give you the harmonica if you'll let me out of the cave." Pompey rolled his eyes in affright. "Couldn't do it no how, young massa," he said. "Massa Kirby would kill me." "He'd think I got away when you were asleep, Pompey. Come, I'll show you two or three more tunes on the instrument, and you can learn others yourself." "I don't dare to, young massa," said Pompey, but there was a suspicion of indecision in his voice. "Very well, then, give me back the harmonica. I will never play any more upon it." "Oh, young massa!" "I mean what I say, Pompey"—and Dean put the harmonica in his pocket. Pompey eyed him with a troubled look. He was evidently weighing the matter in his mind. "If I thought Massa Kirby wouldn't kill me," he said reflectively. Dean upon this redoubled his persuasions. He played another tune on the harmonica—"Sweet Home"—with variations, and this completed the conquest of his sable custodian. "I'll do it, young massa," said Pompey, hoarsely. "Give me the harmonicum, and I'll take the risk." Dean did not want to give him time for reflection. He seized his hat, and handed Pompey the instrument. The negro guided him, not to the front entrance which he already knew, but to a back exit which he had overlooked. Here there was a door skillfully concealed on the outside. Pompey drew out a key, opened it, and with infinite relief Dean again saw the sunshine and breathed the air of freedom. "Good-bye, Pompey!" he said. "I thank you with all my heart." "If Massa Kirby cotch you, don't you tell him I let you go," said Pompey, hoarsely. "No, I won't, Pompey, but I don't mean to let him catch me."