“It is that I loved you so much that I was willing to take the most desperate chances to see you. Whatever may happen to me for what I have done will be but a small payment exacted from me in return for the pleasure I have had.” With the adorable impudence of the Frenchwoman, Miss Juan straightened back in the buggy and looked at him with eyes that sparkled. “I have a beautiful truth to say, also,” she asserted. “It is, that I love you, and if you ever get out of your troubles alive I will marry you; and if you get killed for what you have done, I will mourn for you forever and forever.” She reached out and drew his head to her and kissed him. “Go!” she said, as she pointed toward the Little Moccasin Swamp, “and remember that my love goes with you.” He did not hesitate a moment, but turned and left her, pausing only to wave back at her as he passed out of sight around the nearest corner. The girl turned her buggy and started slowly back toward her home, her heart heavy and her lovely face picturing her wretchedness. To all of this, Little Bit had been an interested witness. It was a free show, no charge for admission; the first time in his life he had seen a love scene between two white folks. It was evidently funny to him, for he sat there laughing aloud, and his laugh bore a strong resemblance to the cackling of a hen. VIII GOING UP! On the Little Moccasin prairie the excitement and enjoyment of the negroes were at their greatest height. The feeling of awe toward the airplane had passed away. One by one they had climbed up into the seat. After a while they seated Skeeter Butts and Vinegar Atts in the machine, and every man that had paid his dollar and wore his feather in his cap took his turn at helping to push the airplane over the ground. It was followed by all the other negroes who shouted and whooped as it bumped along over the prairie like some awkward, stiff-legged, ridiculous bird which spurned the earth and felt like it was a disgrace to be upon the ground. In the midst of this excitement, with its noise of laughter and the shouting, James Gannaway appeared at the edge of the swamp and looked out over the field with a real fear that he had never felt, even in the most dangerous situations in the air. What he saw filled his heart with joy. No more fear that scouting planes had found the lost machine. All that the feathers in the hats of the negroes meant was that the blacks of Tickfall had found the hidden airplane. He waited until they had pushed the machine near to where he stood concealed in the dense foliage of the swamp. At that moment Vinegar Atts and Skeeter stood up from their seats in the machine and began to sing. It was one of the best-loved songs among the negroes, and that great crowd sent it echoing through the majestic forest with their mighty organ tones until James Gannaway wondered that the human voice could express such music.