And that day they had a glorious time. Owlet amazed and delighted Ducky Darling with the sight of her picture books and toys, but among them all the little black child was the most enraptured with a small musical box, so that when at length she was claimed to be carried away by her mother, Owlet raised her to the height of bliss by giving her the box. CHAPTER XIII A THUNDERBOLT Early the next morning, when Owlet was taking her usual run in the garden before breakfast, she found the little black child in the gooseberry walk, sitting down by the chicken coop. “Oh, Ducky Darling, I am so glad to see you again!” Owlet cried. “Chickies,” replied the child, with a broad smile. “Oh, yes; they are such dear, sweet things! Everything is sweet, Ducky Darling, isn’t it?” “’Es.” A bell rang. “There’s the breakfast bell. I must go into the house. Won’t you come in and have some breakfast?” Owlet inquired. “B’ekfus’ ’lon’ o’ mammy,” said Dorcas. “Oh! You mean you have had yours?” “’Es. B’ed an’ mi’k an’ ’lasses.” “Oh, what a nice breakfast! Well, I will go now, but I will run out again before I sit down to my lessons. You stay here and wait for me.” “’Es. Chickies.” Owlet ran into the house and joined her benefactress at the breakfast table, which was set near the open windows, through which the morning air came, laden with the scent of hyacinths. “Lady,” began Owlet. “Why don’t you call me aunty, dear?” inquired Miss Fronde. Owlet looked at her solemnly, and replied: “If any one but you had asked me such a question I should say they were not possessed of common sense.” “But—why?” Roma questioned. “’Cause you are not an auntie. The old colored people are aunties, but you are a young white lady.” “I stand rebuked. What were you about to say to me, ma’am, when I was so rude as to interrupt you?” inquired Roma. “I was going to ask you if you wouldn’t please let Ducky Darling learn lessons along with me.” This seemed rather a startling proposal, but a suggestive one. There were about fifteen adult negroes on the plantation, none of whom could read or write. There were about twenty growing children, none of whom knew a letter. Roma had never given a thought to this state of things. The child’s question aroused her conscience. Here was a field of work and of duty, indeed. “Lady, why don’t you answer me? If you won’t let Ducky Darling come in here and learn along with me, tell me so, and I’ll take my primer and go out in the garden and learn my lesson along with her, and teach it to her, too,” said Owlet. “My dear, you may bring Dorcas in, and we will begin with her. I really do not know whether I can teach her anything. She does not appear to be very intelligent.”