“Ole marster say you been travellin’ an’ mebbe you like to refresh yo’self wid a hot bath. Dar’s some o’ little marster’s clothes on de bed dar, an’ a pair o’ his shoes, an’ I know dey’ll jus’ fit you snug. You’ll find all de folks on de front po’ch when you git through.” She closed the door. Once, winter and summer, the boy had daily plunged into the river with his Indian companions, but he had never had a bath in his life, and he did not know what the word meant; yet he had learned so much at the fort that he had no trouble making out what the tub of water was for. For the same reason he felt no surprise when he picked up the clothes; he was only puzzled how to get into them. He tried, and struggling with the breeches he threw one hand out to the wall to keep from falling and caught a red cord with a bushy red tassel; whereat there was a ringing that made him spring away from it. A moment later there was a knock at his door. “Did you ring, suh?” asked a voice. What that meant he did not know, and he made no answer. The door was opened slightly and a woolly head appeared. “Do you want anything, suh?” “No.” “Den I reckon hit was anudder bell—Yassuh.” The boy began putting on his own clothes. Outside Colonel Dale and Barbara had strolled down the big path to the sun-dial, the colonel telling the story of the little Kentucky kinsman—the little girl listening and wide-eyed. “Is he going to live here with us, papa?” “Perhaps. You must be very nice to him. He has lived a rude, rough life, but I can see he is very sensitive.” At the bend of the river there was the flash of dripping oars, and the song of the black oarsmen came across the yellow flood.